"Yes, I brought her a quick passage," replied Anderson; then, looking straight at the owner, "and it's the last she'll make under me."
The remnants of a smile coalesced, ploughing up Mr. Ruin's cheeks into greasy furrows.
"My dear Captain, we could not hear of it! We're too old friends to part like that."
"Well, sir, I've come this morning, for private reasons, to throw up my commission," said the captain, simultaneously throwing down his commission before the senior partner's eyes.
"I can't accept it, Mr. Anderson; I can't indeed," replied the owner, picking up the parchment. "And I'll tell you why. My brother and I have been thinking matters over, and we've really been obliged to confess, for conscience' sake, that the Chrysolite is getting old."
"Devilish old!" muttered the captain, forgetting himself for a moment.
"Well, now I think of it again, I believe my brother did say she was 'devilish old'—a strange coincidence. Still she is a fine model of a boat. What d' ye think yourself?"
"She has rare lines," said the other, with a slight approach to grave enthusiasm.
"The very remark I made myself only yesterday. Yes, we agreed she was a pretty boat; and I admit, from sheer sentiment, I cannot bear to think of her being chopped up for firewood. So inharmonious, don't you think?"
The old sailor looked sullen and said nothing.