"That's a place I've never been to," said Jaffery.
"Interesting," said the Captain. He poured the little bottle of soda into his whisky, held up his glass, bowed to the lady, and to me, exchanged a solemnly confidential wink with Jaffery, and sipped his drink. Under Jaffery's questioning he informed us—for he was not a spontaneously communicative man—that he now had a very good command: steamship Vesta, one thousand five hundred tons, somewhat old, but sea-worthy, warranted to take more cargo than any vessel of her size he had ever set eyes on.
"And when do you sail?" asked Jaffery.
"To-morrow at daybreak. They're finishing loading her up now."
Jaffery drained his tall glass mug of beer and ordered another.
"Are you going to Madagascar this trip?"
"Yes, worse luck."
"Why worse luck?" I asked.
"It cuts short my time at Pinner," replied Captain Maturin.
Here was a man, I reflected, with the mystery and romance of Madagascar before him, who sighed for his little suburban villa and plot of garden at Pinner. Some people are never satisfied.