The boy vanished, and in a few minutes a man with red whiskers trimmed “dishonestly”—with bare chin—made his appearance.
“Good-morning, Mr. Tackle; here’s the patent log for Captain Green. What do you think of it?”
“H’m. Yes. H’m-m. I see. I don’t know as I’m any particular judge of logs, although I’ve been in this shipping house for twenty years. But it appears to me to be a very fine instrument. Very fine indeed, sir. Sort of screw-propeller that end affair, ain’t it?”
“That’s it, of course,” said Mr. Ropesend in a tone bordering on contemptuous; “sort of a fin-screw with long pitch. It says in order to regulate it you simply have to adjust the timber noggins. I should suppose a man who has been in a shipping house as long as you have would know all about a plain taffrail log and be able to regulate it so as to use it, if necessary.”
“Ah, yes, I see,” said Mr. Tackle instantly, without appearing to hear the last part of the senior’s remarks. “Eggzackly. Regulated by timber noggins, of course. I didn’t notice it, but any one might know it couldn’t be regulated without timber noggins. Let me see it closer. That new cord gave it a strange look.”
“I’m glad you like it and understand all about it,” said Mr. Ropesend in a tone of decision, “for I’m very busy, and you can just take it into your office and explain it to Captain Green when he comes for it. He will be here presently.”
So saying the senior quickly replaced the instrument in the box and had it in the astonished Tackle’s hands before he could get out an H’m-m. Then he commenced writing rapidly upon some important-looking papers before him, giving Mr. Tackle to understand that the incident had closed.
Mr. Tackle flushed, hesitated a moment, and then quickly retired into the outer office, and Mr. Ropesend, having rid himself of the log, smiled grimly to Gaff, turned half-way around in his chair, proceeded to light a cigar and puff the smoke at the dog’s face.
This provoked the animal to such an extent that he growled, snarled, and grew quite savage, much to Mr. Ropesend’s delight.
The dog finally grew frantic, and had just risen from the floor to find more congenial quarters, when the door opened suddenly and Captain Green stepped into the room with a hoarse roar of “Good-morning, Mr. Ropesend; I’ve come for that patent log.”