Barnay, the captain, frankly distrusted them both, and confided to St.George that "them two little jool-eyed scuts was limbs av the old gint himself, and they reminded him, Barnay, of a pair of haythen naygurs," than which he could say no more.

But then, Barnay's wholesale skepticism was his only recreation, save talking about his pretty daughter "of school age," and he liked to stand tucking his beard inside his collar and indulging in both.

In truth, Barnay, who knew the waters of the Atlantic fairly well, was sorely tried to take orders from the two little brown strangers who, he averred, consulted a "haythen apparaytus" which they would cheerfully let him see but of which he could "make no more than av the spach av a fish," and then directed him to take courses which lay far outside the beaten tracks of the high seas.
St.George, who had had several talks with them, was puzzled and doubtful, and more than once confided to himself that the lives of the passenger list of _The Aloha_ might be worth no more than coral headstones at the bottom of the South Atlantic.

But he always consoled himself with the cheering reflection that he had had to come--there was no other way half so good.

So _The Aloha_ continued to plow her way as serenely as if she were heading toward the white cliffs of Dover and trim villas and a custom-house.