. You must tell me
what he looked like, Captain. Is it true, as I have been told, he was
such a giant of a man, and possessed of such enormous physical
strength? And that his hair retained its yellow luster even in old
age? And that he had a great scar on his face, or head, about which he
never spoke? Ah, yes, you must tell me about him, Captain."

Captain Shreve grunted at this--the first sound he had been able to
squeeze into the talk for half an hour. But the author did not pause;
in fact he hastened on, as though determined to forestall any
interruption. Talk! I don't know when that fellow found any time to
write. He was too eager to tell the world about his gift.

"You know," says he, "I need but a few little intimate facts about
'King' Waldon's appearance and character, and I can make him stalk
through my story as truly alive as when he was in the flesh. If he
were alive I should not need your assistance, Captain; one look at the
man and I could paint him in his true colors. I have that gift. Not
men alone--I am able to invest even inanimate objects with personality.
A house, a street, or a--yes, even a ship. Even this ship. Now, this
old box----"

Captain Shreve sat up straight in his chair. I thought he was rasped
by the fellow's slur, for he is very proud of his ship. But it was
something else that rubbed the expression of patient resignation from
his face; he was staring over the starboard rail with an expression of
lively interest. I followed his gaze with mine, but saw only a
ferryboat in the distance, and, close by, a big red-stack tug towing a
dilapidated coal hulk.

The Captain's eyes were upon this tow. He tugged excitedly at his
beard. "Well, by George, what a coincidence!" he exclaimed. He turned
to the mate, his bright eyes snapping. "Look, Briggs! Do you know
her? By George, do you recognize her?"

The writing guy was disgusted by this interruption, just when he was
going to prove his genius. Briggs shifted his quid, spat, and
inspected the passing hulk with extreme deliberation. I looked at her
too, wondering what there was about an old coal-carrier that could
pierce Captain Shreve's accustomed phlegm.

The tow was passing abreast, but a couple of hundred yards distant.
The tug was shortening the line, and on the hulk's forecastle-head a
couple of hands were busy at a cathead, preparing to let go anchor.
She was ill-favored enough to look at, that hulk--weather-beaten