went his own road. He had his own morality, his own
code. Indeed, he almost convinced me that perhaps for _him_, Good and
Evil didn't exist. I used to wonder what he was thinking about while he
stood waiting on us, listening to our engine-room gossip, our talk of
ships and the sea. Most of it must have been Greek to him, of course. If
I stole a look at him, he would glance round the table, as though I had
asked for something. It got on my mind.

"And a better mess-man never stepped, they said. Nothing was too much
trouble. The Second, a very typical man, without much imagination as far
as I could detect, quite startled me by saying, with his eyes wide open
and a curious, proud expression on his face, that in _his_ opinion, if
the truth were known, 'our new mess-man' was a lord. What amused me was
I never could get out of him what made him think so. I said, 'Go on with
you. _You_ wouldn't know a lord if you fell over one.' 'Oh, wouldn't I,'
he said, turning sulky. I laughed. It just showed you what a tremendous
power my brother had over people. And as the days went by, stories came
up from various quarters, fabulous stories of 'that new mess-man.' They
came up and went down again, and then came up again more fabulous than
ever. He knew what he was doing perfectly well, and he showed a
remarkable insight into the silly, credulous nature of seamen by the way
his adventures were coloured. He never told _me_ anything beyond that
he'd had a fierce time. The legends were legends. The second cabin
steward, who roomed with him, and a couple of impressionable
apprentices, were forever bringing up new variations of the doings of
'that new mess-man.' They told a tale of how he had run through a
fortune in no time and had been compelled to run away from his
creditors. How? Oh, horses, you know, Newmarket and Epsom, supper
parties, going everywhere first class, cigars ... champagne ... and so
on. The second cook told the pantry-man 'that new mess-man' was a marvel
on the mandolin; had been in an operatic orchestra ... studied abroad.
Where? Oh, on the continent. And the old man himself heard a fantastic
yarn from somewhere or other and handed it on to me, that 'your new
mess-man' had been in the diplomatic service and had been broken 'on
account of a woman' at one of these here embassies. 'No!' I said. 'Oh,
quite likely,' says the Old Man, though I doubt if he knew any more of
embassies than of metaphysics. The story gave an aristocra