Chance

"Mr. Powell, slipping the Articles into a long envelope, spoke up with a

sort of cold half-laugh without looking at either of us.

"Mind you don't disgrace the name, Charles."

"And the skipper chimes in very kindly: "He'll do well enough I dare say.

I'll look after him a bit."

"Upon this he grabs the Articles, says something about trying to run in

for a minute to see that poor devil in the hospital, and off he goes with

his heavy swinging step after telling me sternly: "Don't you go like that

poor fellow and get yourself run over by a cart as if you hadn't either

eyes or ears."

"Mr. Powell," says I timidly (there was by then only the thin-necked man

left in the office with us and he was already by the door, standing on

one leg to turn the bottom of his trousers up before going away). "Mr.

Powell," says I, "I believe the Captain of the Ferndale was thinking

all the time that I was a relation of yours."

"I was rather concerned about the propriety of it, you know, but Mr.

Powell didn't seem to be in the least.

"Did he?" says he. "That's funny, because it seems to me too that I've

been a sort of good uncle to several of you young fellows lately. Don't

you think so yourself? However, if you don't like it you may put him

right--when you get out to sea." At this I felt a bit queer. Mr. Powell

had rendered me a very good service:- because it's a fact that with us

merchant sailors the first voyage as officer is the real start in life.

He had given me no less than that. I told him warmly that he had done

for me more that day than all my relations put together ever did.

"Oh, no, no," says he. "I guess it's that shipment of explosives waiting

down the river which has done most for you. Forty tons of dynamite have

been your best friend to-day, young man."

"That was true too, perhaps. Anyway I saw clearly enough that I had

nothing to thank myself for. But as I tried to thank him, he checked my

stammering.

"Don't be in a hurry to thank me," says he. "The voyage isn't finished

yet."

Our new acquaintance paused, then added meditatively: "Queer man. As if

it made any difference. Queer man."

"It's certainly unwise to admit any sort of responsibility for our

actions, whose consequences we are never able to foresee," remarked

Marlow by way of assent.