He halted before the mirror and removed the more flagrant traces of his dishevelled appearance; then he took off his coat, flung it on a chair, pushed the electric button, and returned to his bunk.
He was sitting up on the edge of the bunk, and yawning, as the steward answered his summons.
“Hello, steward!” said Crang somewhat thickly. “I guess I've overslept myself. Overdid the send-off a little, I'm afraid. What are we stopping for?”
“A little engine trouble, sir,” the steward answered. “It was right after we started. We're only a little way down the bay. But it's all right, sir. Nothing serious. We'll be off again shortly.”
“Humph!” Crang dismissed the subject with a grunt. “I suppose I've missed my dinner, eh?”
“Oh, no, sir,” replied the steward. “It's only just a little after seven now, sir.”
“That's better!” smiled Crang. “Well, get my traps right up here, like a good fellow, and I'll clean up a bit. And hurry, will you?”
The steward looked a little blank.
“Your traps, sir?”
“Luggage—traps—baggage,” defined Crang with facetious terseness.