His connection with the mercantile marine had earned him his nickname of "The Bo'sun." By his side sat Pinnock, a lean and bilious-looking solicitor; the third man was an English globe-trotter, a colourless sort of person, of whom no one took any particular notice until they learnt that he was the eldest son of a big Scotch whisky manufacturer, and had L10,000 a year of his own.

Then they suddenly discovered that he was a much smarter fellow than he looked.
The three were evidently waiting for somebody.

The "Bo'sun" had a grievance, and was relieving his mind by speech.

He walked up and down between the smoking-room chairs, brandishing a telegram as he talked, while the attorney and the globe-trotter lay back on the lounge and admired his energy.
"I call it a shame," he said, facing round on them suddenly; "I could have got up to Moss Vale for a day or two, and now old Grant of Kuryong wires me to meet and entertain a new chum.

Just listen to this: 'Young Carew, friend of mine, on Carthaginia.