‘There are more kinds of fire than one,’ said I, laughing, and not much relishing the prostrative nature of the fellow’s respectfulness I walked aft.
Close to a boat that hung inboards by the davits, only a few strides from where Muffin was standing, I spied another figure standing with his back against the rail. It proved to be Mr. Jacob Crimp.
‘Plenty of fire in the water to-night,’ said I.
‘Is there?’ he answered, slowly rounding his sturdy little figure to look. ‘I ain’t took notice.’
‘Have you followed the sea many years, Mr. Crimp?’ said I, feeling the need of a chat, and willing moreover to humour the quizzical mood that commonly came to me when I conversed with this sour little chap.
‘Thirty year.’
‘A long spell!’
‘Sight too long.’
‘I suppose you’ll be settling down ashore soon?’