“What is that, Captain?” he asked anxiously. “An accident?”
“Two bells in the first dog-watch,” said the Captain. “I fear you are as much a lubber at sea as you are in theology.”
The next two hours passed like a flash. Gissing found the skipper, in spite of his occasional moods of austerity, a delicious companion. They discussed Theosophy, Spiritualism, and Christian Science, all of which the Captain, with sturdy but rather troubled vehemence, linked with Primitive Magic. Gissing, seeing that his only hope of establishing himself in the sailor's regard was to disagree and keep the argument going, plunged into psycho-analysis and the philosophy of the unconscious. Rather unwarily he ventured to introduce a nautical illustration into the talk.
“Your compass needle,” he said, “points to the North Pole, and although it has never been to the Pole, and cannot even conceive of it, yet it testifies irresistibly to the existence of such a place.”
“I trust you navigate your soul more skilfully than you would navigate this vessel,” retorted
