Captain Cone came back and extended his hand. "Good-by, Simpson—good-by, gentlemen—hope you'll have better weather of it to-morrow."
I noticed that he held out his left hand; it was the left hand that was so pudgy, so fat and soft. His right hand was gloved and the fingers of the glove were stiff, straight.
"Good day," I said, rising, "and good luck to you." Johnson nodded also and the stranger withdrew, followed by Jackson who saw him to the door.
"Wake up," I said to Simpson. "Don't think I meant anything, but these Britisher tramp skippers are the limit. High ideals! lots of feeling! Human as a beef and twice as heavy—after dinner. Where did he blow in from?"
"He came in for coals to take him to Brunswick—he'll load for lumber there and go back home—hope he'll get a better reception than he got here—he's a member of the English Masters' Association; you might have been kind to him," said Simpson.
"Was he the man they fired from the Association last month? Seems to me I heard of a Cone—seems like he was accused of brutality or something, lacks humanity—looks like it, anyway," said Johnson.
"Yes, he was fired—yes—by God, he was," snapped Simpson, "and it was just such judgment that gets lots of good men into trouble. 'Lacked human sentiment'—lacked human sentiment—well, that's a charge for you! Hell! you fellows get narrower and narrower—I happen to know Cone, knew him years ago—he was fired for losing the Champion—'lacked human sentiment,' bah! Oh, now you remember him, heh?"
"Yes, we remember him—the man who lost a fine ship in collision in a clear night," said I, with something of a sneer. "But that wasn't the worst of it——"
"Yes, you read the damned papers—you got a fine idea of it all," snapped Simpson. The old seaman turned and spat viciously at the bogie as if the poor old stove, red-hot, had done him some grievous wrong. Then he turned scornfully to Johnson.
"You remember the Champion? You know something about her, you ain't so damned stuck about yourself. I happened to be aboard of her the day she sailed, talking to Redding, her chief mate—Redding, that was lost in the Arctic—yes, Redding was as straight as a string—and he told me the details of that accident after he came from the hospital—too late. He was nearly a year in the insane ward from a blow that smashed his head, but he told me about Cone.