"No, Captain," said Gissing. "I have come to sea to study
theology."

In spite of himself the Captain was touched by this amazing
statement. He was a Scot, as we have said. He poured a cup of tea
to conceal his astonishment.

"Theology!" he exclaimed. "The theology of hard work is what you
will find most of aboard ship. Carry on and do your duty; keep a
sharp lookout, all gear shipshape, salute the bridge when going
on watch, that is the whole duty of a good officer. That's plenty
theology for a seaman." But the skipper's eye turned brightly
toward his bookshelves, where he had several volumes of sermons,
mostly of a Calvinist sort.

"I am not afraid of work," said Gissing. "But I'm looking for
horizons. In my work ashore I never could find any."

"Your horizon is likely to be peeling potatoes in the galley,"
remarked the Captain. "I understand they are short-handed there.
Or sweeping out bunks in the steerage. Ethics of the dust! What
would you say to that?"

"Sir," replied Gissing, "I shall be grateful for any task,
however menial, that permits me to meditate. I understand your
point of view. By coming aboard your ship I have broken the law,
I have committed a crime; but not a sin. Crime and sin, every
theologian admits, are not coextensive."

The Captain sailed head-on into argument.