“It don’t matter if we ain’t under way.  That has nothing to do with it.  The quarter-deck is clean, if the waist ain’t, and nobody but a damn misbegotten son-of-a-sea-lawyer would spit on deck anyhow!” From this Captain Selover went on into a good old-fashioned deep-sea “cussing out,” to the great joy of the stevedores.

The mate stood it pretty well, but there comes a time when further talk is useless even in regard to a most heinous offense.  And, of course, as you know, the mate could hardly consider himself very seriously at fault.  Why, the ship was not yet at sea, and in all the clutter of charging.  He began to answer back.  In a moment it was a quarrel.  Abruptly it was a fight.  The mate marked Selover beneath the left eye.  The captain with beautiful simplicity crushed his antagonist in his gorilla-like squeeze, carried him to the side of the vessel, and dropped him limp and beaten to the pier.  And the mate was a good stout specimen of a sea-farer, too.

Then the captain rushed below, emerging after an instant with a chest which he flung after his subordinate.  It was followed a moment later by a stream of small stuff,—­mingled with language—­projected through an open port-hole.  This in turn ceased.  The captain reappeared with a pail and brush, scrubbed feverishly at the offending spot, mopped it dry with that same old red bandana handkerchief, glared about him,—­and abruptly became as serene and placid as a noon calm.  He took up the direction of the stevedores.  It was all most astounding.

Nobody paid any attention to the mate.  He looked toward the ship once or twice, thought better of it, and began to pick up his effects, muttering savagely.  In a moment or so he threw his chest aboard an outgoing truck and departed.

It was now nearly noon and I was just in the way of going for something to eat, when I caught sight of another dray laden with boxes and crated affairs which I recognised as scientific apparatus.  It was followed in quick succession by three others.  Ignorant as I was of the requirements of a scientist, my common sense told me this could be no exploring outfit.  I revised my first intention of going to the club, and bought a sandwich or two at the corner coffee house.  I don’t know why, but even then the affair seemed big with mystery, with the portent of tragedy.  Perhaps the smell of tar was in my nostrils and the sea called.  It has always possessed for me an extraordinary allurement——­

A little after two o’clock a cab drove to the after gangplank and stopped.  From it alighted a young man of whom I shall later have occasion to tell you more, followed by Dr. Schermerhorn.  The young man carried only a light leather “serviette,” such as students use abroad; while the doctor fairly staggered under the weight of a square, brass-bound chest without handles.  The singularity of this unequal division of labour struck me at once.

It struck also one of the dock men, who ran forward, eager for a tip.