“Lucky for you. The Peabody finds the weak spots in a man’s system when she’s in a beam sea—that I promise you. I’m always ill for a week after I’ve been ashore a fortnight. Here’s Chips.”
The man addressed as “Chips” was standing at the entrance of the forecastle as Bradley and Daniel crossed a gangway and arrived on the deck of the ship.
He came forward to the mate.
“Have ’e heard or seen aught of Jordan?” he asked.
“Seen nought; heard all I want to hear. He’s either in hospital or police-station. There won’t be time for him to come back now, even if he wants to. Tell the boy to pack his kit-bag and send it ashore to the ‘Master Mariner.’ They’ll know where he’s been taken. And this man has come in his place. What’s your name, my son?”
“Bob Bates.”
“Come and eat your breakfast, Bob Bates,” said the carpenter. “Then I’ll find you plenty to do afore we sail.”
“I’m a thought out of practice, but I’ll soon get handy,” answered Daniel.
“Where’s your papers?” asked the mate.
“Haven’t got none,” answered the other.