APTAIN TREGASKIS sat at a table in the refreshment-room of the Dog and Duck Hotel in Southport. The table was a point of vantage, commanding a view of Southport’s main street. At the moment, save for an unobtrusive individual in far corner, Captain Tregaskis was the sole occupant of the room. A glass of whisky and water stood before him, and he pulled contentedly at a brier pipe of heroic proportions.
His afternoon glass of grog and a pipe was a habit of long standing, and his seat at that particular table a part of it. He derived a certain calm satisfaction from watching, unobserved, the doings of his fellow townsmen. Later some old cronies would perhaps drop in, and there would be a four-handed game, after which supper and a quiet evening. The captain’s life was methodical and well ordered.
Smoking contemplatively, he did not observe the approach of the other occupant of the room until the unobtrusive individual addressed him. .
“Excuse me,” said the quiet gentleman, “but do you object to my taking a seat at your table and enjoying the view from the window?”
“Not at all; certainly not,” said Captain Tregaskis, rather inclined, nevertheless, to resent the intrusion of a stranger. “I don’t own this table, you know.”
“Maybe not,” said the other diffidently, “but I never like to intrude on a gentleman when he appears to be thinking over important matters. Still, if you say you don’t object, I may admit that I prefer a seat here, where I can see people, to the one I just left, where nothing can be seen; and, having broken in on your privacy in this way, may I ask you to have something with me to show I appreciate your kindness?”
“Why, you are very polite,” said Captain Tregaskis, “and I don’t mind if I do. Not that you disturbed me any—not at all. I was just thinking things over, but they will keep.”
“Nice town you have here,” said the stranger, after the refreshments had been brought; “a very nice town, indeed. Plenty of business, I should judge.”
“Considerable,” said the captain. “Living is tolerable cheap, and the place is healthy. Stranger here, I presume?”
“Yes, I got in this morning,” said the other.
“Thinking of staying here?” asked the captain.
“Well, that depends—I imagine I may not,” was the reply.
“Traveling man?” asked the captain.
“Well, I travel a good deal—most of the time, in fact.”
“What line?”
“Business, financial and confidential business,” replied the stranger.
“Ah,” said the captain, “I see.” As a matter of fact he did not see at all, but he nodded his head wisely.
“I would take it,” said the stranger, “that you are pretty well acquainted here—know all the people who are worth knowing.”
“I’ve lived here ever since I retired, a matter of five years,” replied the captain, “and I think I know most of the folks.”
“Not much goes on that escapes you. You’re an observer; I can see that.”
“Well,” responded the gratified captain, “I guess I know most of what takes place, though I don’t see how you know I’m an observer.”
“Your seat at this table for one thing,” said the other; “and your alert manner and your eye. They all stamp you unmistakably as a keen, practical observer. I knew it the minute I saw you sitting here.”
“You must be something of an observer yourself,” said Captain Tregaskis. “Yes, I try to take notice of things. It comes natural to me to do it.”
“Certainly it does,” said the stranger; “and you improve the faculty by practise. You are the possessor of a very valuable quality, that of rapid, highly trained, accurate observation. Also, if you will excuse me for mentioning it, you carry with you the air of one accustomed to command men.”
“Hem—ha—yes, perhaps,” said Captain Tregaskis, much pleased. “I guess I know how to turn a crew to as well as any man. And for observation—well, a man doesn’t sail for forty years without learning to put two and two together.”
“Oh, a sea-captain!” said the stranger. “In the navy, I presume?”
“No, sir!” snorted the captain. “No such thing! None of your gilt-braided, thick-skulled, swivel-eyed quarter-deckers about me! Just plain, ordinary retired master of a clipper, that, give her a wind three points aft, could show her heels to anything that ever carried white paint and a contractor’s curse.”
“Ah,” said the other, “I might have known it, Captain—Captain—er”
“Tregaskis,” said the captain.
“Glad to know you, Captain Tregaskis. My name is West—George West, at your service. Sorry I have to leave you now. Perhaps I may see you again before I leave town.”