Captain Prowse snorted.
"Oh yes, you could, if you was in my crew," he remarked. "If one of you gents was captain, you'd find this crowd couldn't do nothing but sit in the foc'sle and drink 'ot coffee. It's all accordin' where you are, and what kind of a man's on top."
"In other words, circumstance creates character," said the statistician.
"That's a ridiculous exaggeration," said the authority on heredity. "A man is what he is born."
Captain Joseph Prowse laughed scornfully.
"Not he—he's what I makes of him, and if you gents was under me I'd make you sailors long afore you suspected it. By the way, could you tell me what branch of science an 'erbalist belongs to?"
And the conversation followed more pleasant lines.
The Nemagosenda, although little better than a tramp in her appearance, could do her ten knots an hour on less than twenty tons of coal a day, and she soon got out to the Banks, where the men of science discussed fishing, and the colour of sea-water, and icebergs.
"Yes," said the geologist, "an iceberg swims on an average seven-eighths below and an eighth above."
"Gammon!" said Captain Prowse rudely; "why, any sailor knows better. I'm surprised at a scientific josser like you bein' so ignorant. It's one-third above and two below. You ask my mate if it isn't so."