Good sailor.

Great name as a skipper.

Big man; short side-whiskers going grey, fine face, loud voice.
A good fellow, but no more up to people's tricks than a baby.
"That's the captain of the _Sagamore_ you're talking about," I said, confidently.
After a low, scornful "Of course" he seemed now to hold on the wall with his fixed stare the vision of that city office, "at the back of Cannon Street Station," while he growled and mouthed a fragmentary description, jerking his chin up now and then, as if angry.
It was, according to his account, a modest place of business, not shady in any sense, but out of the way, in a small street now rebuilt from end to end.

"Seven doors from the Cheshire Cat public house under the railway bridge.

I used to take my lunch there when my business called me to the city.