Our deputy-Neptune had no beard on his chin, and there was no trident to be seen standing in a corner anywhere, like an umbrella. But his hand was holding a pen⁠—the official pen, far mightier than the sword in making or marring the fortune of simple toiling men. He was looking over his shoulder at my advance.

When I had come well within range he saluted me by a nerve-shattering: “Where have you been all this time?”

As it was no concern of his I did not take the slightest notice of the shot. I said simply that I had heard there was a master needed for some vessel, and being a sailing-ship man I thought I would apply.⁠ ⁠…

He interrupted me. “Why! Hang it! You are the right man for that job⁠—if there had been twenty others after it. But no fear of that. They are all afraid to catch hold. That’s what’s the matter.”

He was very irritated. I said innocently: “Are they, sir. I wonder why?”