"That little chap never seems to have any luck," said Jaffery. "He's one of the finest seamen afloat, with a nerve of steel and a damnable way of getting himself obeyed. He ought to be in command of a great liner instead of a rotten old tramp of fifteen hundred tons."
I beamed. "I'm glad you call it a rotten old tramp. I described it in those terms to Liosha."
"Oh!" said Jaffery. "Precious lot you know about it." He yawned cavernously. "I'll be turning in soon, myself."
It was not yet ten o'clock. "And what shall I do?" I asked.
"Better turn in, too, if you want to see us off."
"My dear Jaff," said I, "you have always bewildered me, and when I contemplate this new caprice I am beyond the phenomenon of bewilderment. But in one respect my mind retains its serene equipoise. Nothing short of an Act of God shall drag me from my bed at half-past four in the morning."
"I wanted to give you a few last instructions."
"Give them to me now," said I.
He handed me the key of his chambers. "If you wouldn't mind tidying up, some day—I left my papers in a deuce of a mess."
"All right," said I.