I got an opportunity of tackling Colonel Race on the following morning. The auction of the sweep had just been concluded, and we walked up and down the deck together.
“How’s the gipsy this morning? Longing for land and her caravan?”
I shook my head.
“Now that the sea is behaving so nicely, I feel I should like to stay on it forever and ever.”
“What enthusiasm!”
“Well, isn’t it lovely this morning?”
We leant together over the rail. It was a glassy calm. The sea looked as though it had been oiled. There were great patches of colour on it, blue, pale green, emerald, purple and deep orange, like a cubist picture. There was an occasional flash of silver that showed the flying fish. The air was moist and warm, almost sticky. Its breath was like a perfumed caress.