quay, my stock of philosophy was nearly exhausted. I was dressing
hurriedly in my cabin when the steward came tripping in with a
morning suit over his arm.

Hungry, tired, and depressed, with my head engaged inside a white
shirt irritatingly stuck together by too much starch, I desired him
peevishly to "heave round with that breakfast." I wanted to get
ashore as soon as possible.

"Yes, sir. Ready at eight, sir. There's a gentleman from the
shore waiting to speak to you, sir."

This statement was curiously slurred over. I dragged the shirt
violently over my head and emerged staring.

"So early!" I cried. "Who's he? What does he want?"

On coming in from sea one has to pick up the conditions of an
utterly unrelated existence. Every little event at first has the
peculiar emphasis of novelty. I was greatly surprised by that
early caller; but there was no reason for my steward to look so
particularly foolish.

"Didn't you ask for the name?" I inquired in a stern tone.

"His name's Jacobus, I believe," he mumbled shamefacedly.

"Mr. Jacobus!" I exclaimed loudly, more surprised than ever, but
with a total change of feeling. "Why couldn't you say so at once?"