"Ay! She may be cast away. Then this lad and the whole of the ship's crew would be drowned. That happens to many tall ships. We sailors take our chance."
"The crew might be drowned. I was thinking, however, of the cargo and the ship."
"Oh! as to them, the underwriters would pay. Underwriters, my lord, are a class of people who, between them, take the risk of ships for a percentage."
"Then under no circumstances, not even that of ship-wreck, or of fire, or of pirates, can the owner lose."
"The underwriters would pay. But look you, my lord, there are risks in every kind of business. There is the cargo. The owner of this ship is also a merchant. She loads a cargo of wine on her own ship; unloads it on her own quay, and sends it about the country to the inn-keepers and the merchants of the towns. They may not want her wine—but they always do. They may not be willing to pay so much as usual, but they generally do. These are our risks. But it is a safe business on the whole—eh, Jack?"
"We have never lost much yet, to my knowledge, captain."
Lord Fylingdale sat down carelessly on the cabin table dangling his leg.
"I have had a most instructive visit, captain. I do not mind the tar on my hands or that on my small clothes, which are ruined. I have learned a great deal. Captain," he added solemnly, "Miss Molly has, beside the charms of her person and her conversation—out of so fine a mouth pearls only—pearls as fine as those around her neck would drop—twelve thousand charms a year. I do not know her equal in London at this moment. The daughter of a retired tallow chandler was spoken of, some time ago—said to have fifty thousand pounds—with a squint. No, sir, Miss Molly in London would take the town by storm."
He paused and fell into a short meditation.
"Jack," said the captain, "there is, I am sure, a bottle in the locker. His lordship must not leave the ship without tasting some of the cargo."