Captain Jordan said nothing, but walked for'ard to his cabin and sat down wearily. He threw a bundle of papers on his table, and filling his pipe smoked for a few minutes. He was a fine handsome white-headed man of some fifty-two years, and had once been ambitious. Now he worked for Messrs. Gruddle, Shody, & Co., and, as all seamen knew, to work for them was to have lost all chances that following the sea affords even in these days.
"The swine," said old Jordan to himself, "oh, the swine that they are! I wish I could get even with them. If I could do that I could die happy. They are charitable, are they? Curse their charity! Ah! if I hadn't been so unlucky in my last employment."
But that was it. He had been in the employ of a good firm with one bitterly unjust regulation. Any skipper of theirs who lost a ship, even through no fault of his own, had to go, and, though he had worked for them for twenty years, that was his fate when he piled up the Grimshaw Hall on the Manacles.
"And that's how they got me cheap," said Jordan. "And because poor Cade lost his master's certificate through an error of judgment
