"[...]dared say I would give him a cup of coffee presently. "I am afraid you will have a poor breakfast," I cried apologetically. "We have been sixty-one days at sea, you know." A quiet little laugh, with a "That'll be all right, Captain," was his answer. All this, words, intonation, the glimpsed attitude of the man in the cuddy, had an unexpected character, a something friendly in it-propitiatory. And my surprise was not diminished thereby. What did this call mean? Was it the sign of some dark design against my commercial innocence? Ah! These commercial interests-spoiling the finest life under the sun. Why must the sea be used for trade-and for war as well? Why kill and traffic on it, pursuing selfish aims of no great importance after all? It would have been so much nicer just to sail about with here and there a port and a bit of land to stretch one's legs on, buy a few books and get a change of cooking for a while. But, living in a world more or less homicidal and desperately mercantile, it was plainly my duty to make the best of its opportunities. My owners' letter had left it to me, as I have said before, to do my best for[...]."