He spoke of a Captain Sonurs.
"He was a great captain," he was saying.

"An' in the two years I sailed mate with him there was never a port I didn't jump the ship goin' in an' stay in hiding until I sneaked aboard when she sailed again." "But why ?" "The men, on account of the men swearin' blood an' vengeance and warrants against me because of my ways of teachin' them to be sailors.

Why, the times I was caught, and the fines the skipper paid for me--and yet it was my work that made the ship make money." He held up his huge paws, and as I stared at the battered, malformed knuckles I understood the nature of his work.
"But all that's stopped now," he lamented.

"A sailor's a gentleman these days.

You can't raise your voice or your hand to them." At this moment he was addressed from the poop-rail above by the second mate, a medium-sized, heavily built, clean-shaven, blond man.
"The tug's in sight with the crew, sir," he announced.
The mate grunted an acknowledgment, then added, "Come on down, Mr.
Mellaire, and meet our passenger." I could not help noting the air and carriage with which Mr.Mellaire came down the poop-ladder and took his part in the introduction.