"Well, I've heard of him all right," laughed the captain. "This is the Susquehanna. She belongs to his company. We fly his house flag. Do you mean to tell me that you claim to have been engaged to his daughter; a drunken ragamuffin like you, the off-scourin's of Water Street, which the crimps unload on us poor, helpless, seafarin' men as able seamen?"
"I was. I am. The wedding was set for yesterday. We had a bachelor dinner on Wednesday night, and I guess we all drank too much. At any rate, I don't know anything further except that I woke up here."
"It's a likely story."
"That chap's got a rich imagination," sneered the second mate.
"He'd orter be writin' romances," ejaculated Woywod.
"Enough," said Captain Fish. "Your story may be true or it may not. I don't think it is, but whether it is or not, it don't matter. You were brought aboard at two o'clock Thursday morning. We tripped and sailed at four. His name's on the articles, Mr. Woywod?"
"It is; John Smith. I witnessed his signature. He couldn't write at the time, so someone held his hand an' he made his mark."
"This is an outrage," roared Beekman. "What became of my watch and clothes?"
"You had nothin' but what you've got on now when you came aboard. Am I right, cap'n?"
"You are, sir."