Greatly relieved I followed him into the saloon, which was almost as gorgeous as a yacht’s, carpets, and mirrors, and velvet settees, piano and silver-plated metal work till you couldn’t rest. A gliding Hindoo came salaaming along with a bottle and glasses and some ice in a bowl at a word from the mate, and solemnly, as if pouring a libation, we partook of refreshment. Then, offering me a Trichie, the mate began to cross-examine me. But by this time I had got back my self-possession, and I soon satisfied him that I shouldn’t make half a bad shipmate. I happened to have sailed with an old skipper of his, I knew two or three fellows that he did, or at least I thought I knew them, and before half an hour had passed we were on quite confidential terms. No, not quite; for two or three times I noticed that he checked himself, just when he was on the point of telling me something, although he let drop a few hints that were totally unintelligible to me. At last he said—
“You might as well stay to supper an’ keep me company, unless you’ve got to get back anywhere.”
“Anywhere’s just the right word, Mr. Martin,” I broke in; “anywhere but ashore again in this God-forsaken place. If you’d been ashore here for six weeks, looking for a pierhead jump as I have, you’d think it was heaven to get aboard a ship again. It’d be a mighty important engagement that ’ud take you up town again.”
“All right, my boy. Hullo, what do you want?” to the suppliant steward, who stood in a devotional attitude awaiting permission to speak.
“Dinghy-wallah, sab, waitin’ for speaky gentyman, sab.”
I went cold all over. That infernal coolie was after me for his fare, and I hadn’t a pice. I’d forgotten all about him. I did the only thing possible, owned up to the mate that I had a southerly wind in my pockets, and he came to the rescue at once, paying the dinghy-wallah a quarter of what he asked (two rupees), and starting him off. Then we sat down to a sumptuous supper, such as I had not tasted for many months, for I came out before the mast, and the grub in the Sailors Home (where I had been staying) was pretty bad. Over the pleasant meal Mr. Martin thawed out completely, and at last, in a burst of confidence, he said—
“Our ole man’s scientific, Mr. Roper.”
As he looked at me like a man who has just divulged some tremendous secret, I was more than a little puzzled what to say in reply, so I looked deeply interested, and murmured, “Indeed.”
“Indeed, yes,” growled the mate; “but I’ll bet you a month’s wages you won’t say ‘indeed’ like that when we’ve ben to sea a few days. I’ll tell you what it is, I’ve been with some rum pups of skippers in my time, but this one scoops the pot. He’s a good enough sailor man, too. But as fer his condemn science—well, he thinks he’s the whole Royle Serciety an’ Trinity House biled down into one, an’ I’m damfee knows enough to come in when it rains. He’s just worryin me bald-headed, that’s what he is. Why, if it wasn’t fer the good hash and bein’ able to do pretty much as I mind to with the ship, I’d a ben a jibbin mainyac ’fore now, I’m dead shore o’ that. Looky here,” and he sprang up and flung a state-room door wide open, “djever see anythin’ like that outen a mewseeum?”
I stared in utter amazement at a most extraordinary collection of queer looking instruments, models, retorts, crucibles, and specimen glasses, turning round after completing my scrutiny, and gazing into the mate’s face without speaking.