"Why, then, what, in the name of all that's wonderful, do you think it could have been?"
"I don't know, but Joe Basalt chaffed me. He swore I was walking in my sleep; but I have come back upon my old opinion since I have thought the job over."
"You mean that you actually believe there is someone concealed in the hold?"
"Is—or was. Now, you watch Joe Basalt, Harry, and see if there is not some thing very strange in his manner."
"I will, if you like, but—good-morning, Tiller."
This was to Jack Tiller, who came up to them touching his forelock.
"Good-morning, Master Jack—morning, Master Harry. We've got a fishing party on, gentlemen, and thought as you might like to jine us."
"Who's going?"
"Me and Sam Mason, Tommy Shipwright and Bill Adams, Joe Basalt and old Higgy—only that lot among the common folk," added he, with a grin.
"And who among the superior class?" asked young Jack, laughingly.