The choice had fallen upon the right man.

The rest of mankind that did not command the sixteen-knot steel steamer Ossa were rather poor creatures.

He had saved lives at sea, had rescued ships in distress, had a gold chronometer presented to him by the underwriters, and a pair of binoculars with a suitable inscription from some foreign Government, in commemoration of these services.

He was acutely aware of his merits and of his rewards.

I liked him well enough, though some I know--meek, friendly men at that--couldn't stand him at any price.