"What?" he cried. "Are you aware of the doctrine of Moral
Inability in a Fallen State? Sit down, sit down, and have a cup
of tea. We must discuss this."

He rang for the steward and ordered an extra cup and a fresh
supply of toast. At that moment Gissing heard two quick strokes
of a bell, rung somewhere forward, a clear, musical, melancholy
tone, echoed promptly in other parts of the ship. "What is that,
Captain?" he asked anxiously. "An accident?"

"Two bells in the first dog-watch," said the Captain. "I fear you
are as much a lubber at sea as you are in theology."

The next two hours passed like a flash. Gissing found the
skipper, in spite of his occasional moods of austerity, a
delicious companion. They discussed Theosophy, Spiritualism, and
Christian Science, all of which the Captain, with sturdy but
rather troubled vehemence, linked with Primitive Magic. Gissing,
seeing that his only hope of establishing himself in the sailor's
regard was to disagree and keep the argument going, plunged into
psycho-analysis and the philosophy of the unconscious. Rather
unwarily he ventured to introduce a nautical illustration into
the talk.

"Your compass needle," he said, "points to the North Pole, and
although it has never been to the Pole, and cannot even conceive
of it, yet it testifies irresistibly to the existence of such a
place."