The mate nodded, a boyish nod of half-apology, “And only a week out, too, sir.” “Yes,” said the skipper. His eyes looked into themselves. “Well. The trade,” he said, “The trade’s no damn perfume-shop.” He drummed with his fingers. “Seem to be quiet tonight,” he murmured at last. “Oh yes sir, quiet enough.” The mate flushed. “Not What you’d call quiet at home but⁠—quiet enough.”

“Um,” said the skipper. “What about the big fellow?”