“Take ’im below, Tupper,” he said. “Dig ’im up some jeans an’ a pair o’ shoes, an’ let ’im roost somewhere forrad. We can use ’im, I reckon.”
“Look here,” I remonstrated anxiously; he was overlooking my voice in the matter in a way that didn’t suit me at all. “I want to know when I’m going to get a chance to go back to St. Louis? You don’t seem to understand the fix I’m in.”
“Got passage-money about you?” he asked coolly.
“Why, of course not,” I replied. “A fellow doesn’t usually carry money in his underclothes.”
“He don’t, hey?” He stepped nearer to me and suddenly thrust a hairy fist under my nose. “Who the hell are you, t’ howl about gettin’ ashore? You look t’ me like a man that’s broke jail or somethin’ o’ the kind. As tough a lookin’ citizen as you are ought t’ be damn thankful for a chance t’ climb aboard. You’ll earn your keep while you’re on the Moon—an’ no questions asked. See? Take him along, Tupper. Kick his ribs in, if he makes a roar. Get forrad, there.”
That was all the satisfaction I got out of Captain Speer; and truth to tell I followed the mate with proper meekness. I knew enough of the river-boat way to avoid open clashing with sternwheel folk. Deep-water men paint lurid pictures of hell-ships, but I have my doubts, from what I’ve seen and heard, of any wind-jammer that ever sailed the seven seas being worse that some of the flat-bottomed craft that bucked the Missouri and Mississippi in the year of our Lord eighteen eighty-one.
The mate, a sullen, red-whiskered brute, hustled me down ’tween decks, rummaged in a locker and brought forth a frayed suit of cotton overalls, and a pair of brogans two sizes too large for my feet—and they are not small by any means.
“Get into them, if you feel the need o’ clothes,” he growled. “You camp on that pile o’ sacks an’ stay there till you’re wanted.”
Much as I resented his overbearing speech and manner I didn’t think it good policy to row with him just then. My face ached from the punching it had already received; physical weariness, bruises, the strangeness and palpable belligerence that confronted me on the Moon, all served to cow me, that had never been a fighting-man, nor thrown among the breed. My knowledge of the genus river-rat was sufficient to tell me that the mate would rather enjoy carrying out the captain’s order in regard to my ribs. I wanted none of his game at that time and place. So I donned the overalls and kept my mouth closed.
He wasted no more time on me, and when he was gone I settled myself philosophically on the sack-pile, wondering how long it would be till the Moon would make a landing. The wisest plan seemed to consist of dodging trouble while aboard, and stepping ashore at the first tie-up. Otherwise, I judged myself slated to enact the role of roustabout at the pleasure of the rude gentleman in command.