The author, fighting down his dejection and discouragement, set himself resolutely to work once more on the novel, and his nautical adviser was called in for frequent consultation.

The story, however, progressed but slowly.

There was something lacking.

Each knew what that something was, but neither named it.
One evening Pearson entered the room tenanted by his friend to find the latter seated beside the table, his shoes partially unlaced, and a pair of big slippers ready for putting on.
"Captain," said the visitor, "you look so comfortable I hate to disturb you." Captain Elisha, red-faced and panting, desisted from the unlacing and straightened in his chair.
"Whew!" he puffed.

"Jim, your remarks prove that your experience of the world ain't as big as it ought to be.