back
on his ship; that's what it has come to. He has no one now but his old
Franklin. But what's a fellow to do to put things back as they were and
should be. Should be--I say!"

His starting eyes had a terrible fixity. Mr Powell's irresistible
thought, "he resembles a boiled lobster in distress," was followed by
annoyance. "Good Lord," he said, "you don't mean to hint that Captain
Anthony has fallen into bad company. What is it you want to save him
from?"

"I do mean it," affirmed the mate, and the very absurdity of the
statement made it impressive--because it seemed so absolutely audacious.
"Well, you have a cheek," said young Powell, feeling mentally helpless.
"I have a notion the captain would half kill you if he were to know how
you carry on."

"And welcome," uttered the fervently devoted Franklin. "I am willing,
if he would only clear the ship afterwards of that ... You are but a
youngster and you may go and tell him what you like. Let him knock the
stuffing out of his old Franklin first and think it over afterwards.
Anything to pull him together. But of course you wouldn't. You are all
right. Only you don't know that things are sometimes different from
what they look. There are friendships that are no friendships, and
marriages that are no marriages... Phoo! Likely to be right--wasn't
it? Never a hint to me. I go off on leave and when I come back, there
it is--all over, settled! Not a word beforehand. No warning. If only:
`What do you think of it, Franklin?'--or anything of the sort. And
that's a man who hardly ever did anything without asking my advice.
Why! He couldn't take over a new coat from the tailor without ... first
thing, directly the fellow came on board with some new clothes, whether
in London or in China, it would be: `Pass the word along there for Mr
Franklin. Mr Franklin wanted in the cabin.' In I would go. `Just
look at my back, Franklin. Fits all right, doesn't it?' And I would
say: `First-rate, sir,' or whatever was the truth of it. That or
anything else. Always the truth of it. Always. And well he knew it;
and that's why he dared not speak right out. Talking about workmen,
alterations, cabins... Phoo! ... instead of a straightforward--`Wish me
joy, Mr Franklin!' Yes, that was the way to let me know. God only
knows what they are--perhaps she isn't his daughter any more than she
is... She doesn't resemble that old fellow. Not a bit. Not a bit.
It's very