“Yes; quite sunk. No part visible. It was calm weather at the time, and a clear night.”
“Another coincidence!” exclaimed Stride, becoming still more interested. “Calm and clear, too, when I was wrecked!”
“Curious,” remarked Red Shirt in a cool indifferent tone, that began to exasperate the Captain.
“Yet, after all, there are a good many calm and clear nights in the Pacific, as well as coral reefs.”
“Why, young man,” cried Stride in a tone that made old Crossley smile, “you seem to think nothing at all of coincidences. It’s very seldom—almost never—that one hears of so many coincidences happening on this side o’ the line all at once—don’t you see.”
“I see,” returned Red Shirt; “and the same, exactly, may be said of the other side o’ the line. I very seldom—almost never—heard of so many out there; which itself may be called a coincidence, d’ee see? a sort of negative similarity.”
“Young man, I would suspect you were jesting with me,” returned the Captain, “but for the fact that you told me of your experiences first, before you could know that mine would coincide with them so exactly.”
“Your conclusions are very just, sir,” rejoined Red Shirt, with a grave and respectful air; “but of course coincidences never go on in an unbroken chain. They must cease sooner or later. We left our wreck in three boats. No doubt you—”
“There again!” cried the Captain in blazing astonishment, as he removed his hat and wiped his heated brow, while Mr Crossley’s eyes opened to their widest extent. “We left our wreck in three boats! My ship’s name was—”
“The Walrus,” said Red Shirt quietly, “and her Captain’s name was Stride!”