Until now he had been a salaried man, brave and care-free.

He was going to begin an absolutely independent life as a speculator of the sea.
Two months afterwards he wrote from England saying that he had bought the _Fingal_, a mail packet of three thousand tons that had made trips twice a week between London and a port of Scotland.
Ulysses appeared highly delighted with the cheapness of his acquisition.

The _Fingal_ had been the property of a Scotch captain who, in spite of his long illness, had never wished to give up command, dying aboard his vessel.

His heirs, inland men tired by their long wait, were anxious to get rid of it at any price.
When the new proprietor entered the aft saloon surrounded with staterooms,--the only habitable place in the ship,--memories of the dead came forth to meet him.

On the wall-panels were painted the heroes of the Scotch Iliad,--the bard Ossian with his harp, Malvina with the round arms and waving golden tresses, the undaunted warriors with their winged helmets and protruding biceps, exchanging gashes on their shields while awaking the echoes of the green lochs.
A deep and spongy arm chair opened its arms before a stove.