'Yes, sir. I believe you'll find me a suitable man. I confess I'd like the job. I know the Mowbray.'
Mr. Vanderholt's face lighted up.
'I was off her in a wherry not above a fortnight ago, and we stopped to admire her. I never saw prettier lines.' Here he raised his eyes to the picture over the sideboard, as though observing it for the first time, but his face discovered no marks of enthusiasm or admiration whilst he let his sight rest for a moment on that square of splendid, spirit-moving canvas. 'My uncle was a shipbuilder,' he continued, 'and I have some knowledge of that trade. The finest examples of seaworthy craft are, in my opinion, the Baltimore clippers—some of them, at all events. The Mowbray might be the queen of that fleet, sir.'
Mr. Vanderholt glanced at his daughter, as if he should say, 'This is our man.' He then rang the bell. A footman quickly appeared.
'Wine,' said Mr. Vanderholt.
'Not for me, if you please,' said Captain Glew, lifting his hand, and bowing with a motion that made his refusal emphatic.
'What will you take?' said Mr. Vanderholt.
'Nothing whatever, I thank you, sir.'
'Are you a teetotaler?' said Mr. Vanderholt, signing to the footman to be gone.