"I generally find that time is only sometimes in direct correlation with abilities," Halloran observed, thinking of the veteran sailors he had that were generally useless, and those of much greater skill who came from no background whatsoever. It was often to do with what was in your blood, and thus ran through your heart. As opposed to, say, your purse strings. Of a sudden, Halloran turned his full attention on his companion. "Mr. Whitton. While you have no reason to believe me when I say so, and I'm sure very little inclination to go out of your well-ridden ruts of societal etiquette - rightfully so, as I'm sure they will serve you well elsewhere - may I ask you of the great favor to treat me as your equal? I assure you, I find your horse far more interesting than the flavorless, predictable bowing and scraping due our class differences." He paused for a moment and then flicked a small piece of straw off his sleeve. "I have ranted." It wasn't an apology.