hoary old relic of man-killing and man-driving days, battered waif of the
sea that he was, carried in from his room a most splendid collection of
phonograph records. These, and the machine, he placed on the table. The
big doors were opened, making the dining-room and the main cabin into one
large room. It was in the cabin that Captain West and I lolled in big
leather chairs while Mr. Pike ran the phonograph. His face was in a
blaze of light from the swinging lamps, and every shade of expression was
visible to me.

In vain I waited for him to start some popular song. His records were
only of the best, and the care he took of them was a revelation. He
handled each one reverently, as a sacred thing, untying and unwrapping it
and brushing it with a fine camel's hair brush while it revolved and ere
he placed the needle on it. For a time all I could see was the huge
brute hands of a brute-driver, with skin off the knuckles, that expressed
love in their every movement. Each touch on the discs was a caress, and
while the record played he hovered over it and dreamed in some heaven of
music all his own.

During this time Captain West lay back and smoked a cigar. His face was
expressionless, and he seemed very far away, untouched by the music. I
almost doubted that he heard it. He made no remarks between whiles,
betrayed no sign of approbation or displeasure. He seemed
preternaturally serene, preternaturally remote. And while I watched him
I wondered what his duties were. I had not seen him perform any. Mr.
Pike had attended to the loading of the ship. Not until she was ready
for sea had Captain West come on board. I had not seen him give an
order. It looked to me that Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire did the work. All
Captain West did was to smoke cigars and keep blissfully oblivious of the
_Elsinore's_ crew.

When Mr. Pike had played the "Hallelujah Chorus" from the _Messiah_, and
"He Shall Feed His Flock," he mentioned to me, almost apologetically,
that he liked sacred music, and for the reason, perhaps, that for a short
period, a child ashore in San Francisco, he had been a choir boy.

"And then I hit the dominie over the head with a baseball bat and sneaked
off to sea again," he concluded with a harsh laugh.

And thereat he fell to dreaming while he played Meyerbeer's "King of
Heaven," and Mendelssohn's "O Rest in the Lord."

When one bell struck, at quarter to eight, he carried his music, all
carefully wr