I turned my eyes expectantly on Captain Blane, a short-necked, weather-beaten sailor, in a blue serge coat with gilt buttons, and a peaked cap. He surveyed me steadily, with a pair of small keen eyes, and evidently did not receive the suggestion with enthusiasm.
“We don’t carry passengers,” he announced in a gruff voice. “My ship is only a cargo-boat, a tramp; and we have no accommodation whatsoever.”
“No accommodation!” echoed the clerk, incredulously. “Oh, I say, come!”
“Why, you know very well that all the cabins are chock-full of cargo; and we have never carried a passenger since I took command.”
“If there was any hole or corner where you could stow me, I don’t mind how I rough it,” I urged; “and I’ll pay full first-class fare.”
“Oh, there’s lots of holes and corners,” admitted the captain. “And you’d just get the ship’s rations, same as the officers and myself; no soups and entrées—plain roast and boiled.”
“I’m not particular; I’m ready to eat salt junk and sea biscuit. I’ll do anything, short of swimming, to get to Singapore by next Wednesday.”
“Is it so very important?” demanded Captain Blane.
“A wedding. No—no,” in answer to his commiserating stare, “not my own—but I’ve to give away the bride.”
“Well, well, I suppose I must try and stretch a point. Mind! I’ll take you at your word about the passage money. ‘Never refuse a good offer,’ is my motto; so, Mr. ——?” and he paused interrogatively.