“Oh, how he did make me laugh about them Papuans. Yes, I can see the old chap’s going as strong as ever. Meanin’ to have another bang at the South Pole, isn’t he, miss?” And Captain Cairns’s sense of humour induced a fit of chuckling. “Him and that Pole! I wrote and told him he’s like the baby with the cake of soap. He won’t be happy till he gets it.”
They had a jolly evening.
“Ah well.” Captain Cairns sighed when taking leave. “Here’s my address, Miss Verinder, if you should have news you’d like to send me at any time—for he doesn’t answer my letters. Good-night, and thank you. Those were happy days on the poor old Mercedaria.”
“What is she doing now?” asked Emmie.
“She’s broke up”; and Captain Cairns sighed again. “She was a good ship, she was—in her time. But her time was mostly over, when you honoured us, miss.”
Then Dyke, laughing, said he had a little tale to tell; and he insisted that Cairns should sit down again and have another whisky and soda.
“If so, it must be a small one,” said Cairns. “Really only a spot.”
They sat down and Dyke gleefully narrated how, after saying good-bye to the Mercedaria, they got into a tight place—and Miss Verinder saved his life by killing a man.
In vain Emmie protested; he would go on.