"We're off, Guest!" I exclaimed, "and off safely, too, I think. Chuck that now, there's a good fellow."
Guest was engaged in emptying the contents of one of my bags. He turned slowly round and faced me, with a pair of my trousers upon his arm.
"I shall do nothing of the sort," he answered calmly. "I am here as your servant, Courage, and your servant I intend to remain. We can't hope to keep the thing up on the other side, if we are all the time drifting back to our old relations. I wish I could make you understand this."
I opened the port-hole as far as it would go, and lit a cigarette.
"That's all very well," I said; "but I don't see any need to keep the farce up in private, and I'm sure I can unpack my own things a thundering sight better than you can."
"Very likely," he answered, "but you certainly won't do it. Can't you understand that, unless we grow into our parts, they will never come naturally to us? Besides, we may be watched. You cannot tell."
"The door is locked," I remarked dryly.
"For the moment, no doubt, we're all right," Guest answered; "but you won't be able to lock it often upon the voyage. Remember that we are up against a system with a thousand eyes and a thousand ears. It's no good running risks. I am Peters, your man, and Peters I mean to be."
"Do you propose," I asked, "to have your meals in the servants' saloon?"
"Most certainly I do," was the curt answer. "I expect to make acquaintances there who will be most useful. Did you get the passengers' list?"