The Prize Package from Mr. Fogg

Our captain stood on his quarter-deck,
And a fine little man was he!
"Overhaul, overhaul, on your davit tackle fall,
And launch your boats to the sea,
Brave boys! And launch your boats to the sea."
--The Whale.

A slowing, tug, tooting fussy and staccato blasts which Captain Wass
translated into commands to hold up, intercepted the Nequasset in
Hampton Roads.

Mr. Fletcher Fogg was a passenger on the tug. In a suit of natty gray,
he loomed conspicuously in the alley outside the tug's pilot-house. He
cursed roundly when he toilsomely climbed the ladder to the freighter's
deck, for the rusty sheathing smutched the knees of his trousers.

"I'm doing a little better than I promised you, captain," he stated when
he arrived finally in the presence of the master. "I said Philadelphia.
But here I am. Do you know me now?"

"Your name is Fogg," returned Captain Wass, exhibiting no special
delight.

"And I'm manager of this line. As it seems to be pretty hard for you to
get anything through that thick nut of yours, I'll ask you to glance at
a paper which will save argument."

The paper was an attested notification, signed by the directors, stating
in laconic legal phrase what Mr. Fogg had just declared.

"You recognize my authority, do you?"

"Your bill o' lading reads O. K.," assented the skipper.