'They went west about and we went east about, to meet on the far side of the world, do you see; and the skipper wishes the Reverend was here this minute to ask whether it is lawful to pray for a wind, or would it be Popery.' 'Poor unfortunate buggers,' said Grimshaw, dismissing the questions of prayer. 'How do you make that out?' asked Killick, narrowing his eyes. 'Because why, if you sail steady westwards and you come to the line where the date changes, say if you cross it of a Monday, why, tomorrow is Monday too - and you have lost a day's pay.' Killick pondered, looking shrewish, discontented, suspicious: then his face lightened and he cried 'But we been sailing steady eastwards, so if we cross it of a Monday, tomorrow is Wednesday and we have Tuesday's pay for nothing, ha, ha, ha! Ain't that right, mate?' 'Right as dried peas, mate.' 'God love you, William Grimshaw.'
The Nutmeg of Consolation, Patrick O’Brian
