“Return in a ship’s boat, will he?” thought Mr. Baring. “We’ll see about that.... Some commercial, I suppose.”
The small person climbed the ladder slowly. As he stepped on to the quarter-deck he raised his hat in obedience to a Service custom well known to him. Mr. Baring, incredulous of such knowledge in a “commercial,” accepted the salute as if it had been addressed to himself.
“Well,” he said, “what can we do for you?”
“My name is Alter,” said the small person, “and——”
“Indeed!” Mr. Baring interrupted, determined to enliven an uneventful watch at the expense of this innocent. “And what is your line?”
A few moments passed before Mr. Alter understood this question. Then, as he realized that he was a “commercial,” his eyes twinkled.
“Books,” he replied.
“Oh, what kind?”
“Various kinds—novels, biography, poetry.”
“I’m afraid there won’t be much sale for them on the Lower Deck. Have you a card?”