clever by half and was afraid of getting into a scrape over it.
The contemptuous expression of Mr. Burns's face as he looked from
him to me was really extraordinary. I couldn't imagine what new
bee had stung the mate now.

The Captain being silent, nobody else cared to speak, as is the way
in ships. And I was saying nothing simply because I had been made
dumb by the splendour of the entertainment. I had expected the
usual sea-breakfast, whereas I beheld spread before us a veritable
feast of shore provisions: eggs, sausages, butter which plainly
did not come from a Danish tin, cutlets, and even a dish of
potatoes. It was three weeks since I had seen a real, live potato.
I contemplated them with interest, and Mr. Jacobus disclosed
himself as a man of human, homely sympathies, and something of a
thought-reader.

"Try them, Captain," he encouraged me in a friendly undertone.
"They are excellent."

"They look that," I admitted. "Grown on the island, I suppose."

"Oh, no, imported. Those grown here would be more expensive."

I was grieved at the ineptitude of the conversation. Were these
the topics for a prominent and wealthy merchant to discuss? I
thought the simplicity with which he made himself at home rather
attractive; but what is one to talk about to a man who comes on one
suddenly, after sixty-one days at sea, out of a totally unknown
little town in an island one has never seen before? What were
(besides sugar) the interests of that crumb of the earth, its