CAMPBELL. Did he look like any of us?
MRS. ROBERTS. Like us? He’s eight feet tall, if he’s an inch, in his stockings—and he’s always in them—and he has a long black beard and mustaches, and he’s very lanky, and stoops over a good deal; but he’s just as lovely as he can be and live, and he’s been as kind and patient as twenty Jobs.
CAMPBELL. Speaks in a sort of soft, slow grind?
MRS. ROBERTS. Yes.
CAMPBELL. Gentle and deferential to ladies?
MRS. ROBERTS. As pie.
CAMPBELL. It’s Tom Goodall. I’ll have him out of there in half a second. I want you to take him home with you, Agnes. He’s the best fellow in the world. Which is his berth?
MRS. ROBERTS. Don’t ask me, Willis. But if you’d go for baby, you’ll be sure to find him.
MR. ROBERTS (timidly indicating a berth). I think that’s the one.
CAMPBELL (plunging at it, and pulling the curtains open). You old Tom Goodall!