‘Natouche,’ Caley Bard called up the companion-way, ‘you must come down and see this.’

He came down at once. Troy gave him the drawing and for the second time heard his laugh. ‘It is beautiful and it is comical,’ he said presently and handed it back to Troy. ‘I know, of course, that one must not frivolously compare the work of one great artist with another but may I say that Erni is perhaps your only contemporary who would have approached the subject like this.’

‘Very perceptive of you,’ said Caley Bard.

‘I want to put the rhyme in the middle,’ Troy said, ‘but my lettering’s hopeless: it takes ages to do and is awful when it’s finished. I suppose nobody here would do a nice neo-classic job of lettering?’ ‘I would,’ said Mr Pollock.

He was close behind Troy, staring over her arm at the drawing. ‘I—’ he paused and, most unaccountably, Troy was revisited by yesterday’s impression of an impending crisis. ‘I started in that business,’ Pollock said and there seemed to be a note of apology in his voice. ‘Commercial art. You know? Gave it up for real estate. I—if you show me what you’d like—the type of lettering—I’ll give satisfaction.’

He was looking at the drawing with the oddest expression in his barrow-boy face: sharp, appreciative and somehow—what?—shamefaced? Or—could Mr Pollock possibly be frightened?

Troy said, cordially. ‘Will you really? Thank you so much. It just wants to be a sort of Garamond face. A bit fantasticated if you like.’

Dr Natouche had a book in his hand with the dust-jacket titled in Garamond. ‘That sort of thing,’ Troy said pointing to it.

Mr Pollock looked reluctantly but sharply at it and then bent over the drawing. ‘I could do that,’ he said. ‘I don’t know anything about fantasticate,’ and added under his breath something that sounded like: ‘I can copy anything.’

Mr Lazenby said loudly: ‘You’re very sure of yourself, Mr Pollock, aren’t you?’ and Caley Bard ejaculated: ‘Honestly, Pollock, how you dare!’

There followed a brief silence. Pollock mumbled: ‘Only a suggestion, isn’t it? No need to take it up, is there?’

‘I’d be very glad to take it up,’ Troy said. ‘There you are: it’s all yours.’

She moved away from the table and after a moment’s hesitation he sat down at it.

Troy went up on deck where she was soon joined by Caley Bard.

‘You didn’t half snub that little man,’ she said.

‘He irritates me. And he’s a damn’ sight too cool about your work.’

‘Oh come!’

‘Yes, he is. Breathing down your neck. My God, you’re you. You’re “Troy”. How he dares!’

‘Do come off it.’

‘Have you noticed how rude he is to Natouche?’

‘Well, that—yes. But you know I really think direct antagonism must be more supportable than the “don’t let’s be beastly” line.’

‘See the Rickerby-Carrick?’

‘If you like. Yes.’

‘You know,’ he said, ‘if you weren’t a passenger in the good ship Zodiac I think I’d rat.’