Her masts had gone, there were gaps in her bulwarks, and the smoke of her furnaces, pouring through a hole in her deck over which her funnel had once reared itself, had taken advantage of this rare and golden opportunity to blacken her after-part to a very fair semblance of imitation ebony, and to transform her crew to an even fairer imitation of negroes dressed in black.
"She is in a mess!" said Tinker.
"Of the Atlantic's making, to judge by its completeness," said Sir Tancred.

"Whose yacht is it ?" "I don't know," said Tinker, staring at it with all his eyes.
"You ought to," said Sir Tancred with some severity.

"You've been on it.

It's Meyer's." "So it is," said Tinker, mortified.

"I am stupid not to have recognised it!" "Your new clairvoyant faculty must be weakening your power of observation.