They stopped and looked up at him.
"Gear for a passenger," said the taller of the two.
"What passenger?" demanded Riggs, in surprise.
"A parson," said the spokesman, and as he said it Meeker himself came up the after-ladder.
"Ah, the captain," he said. "I am the Rev. Luther Meeker," he explained, presenting his ticket. "I am going to Hong-Kong, and, if I am not mistaken, this is the good ship Kut Sang"
"That your baggage? All right, you men—come aboard and look sharp."
"That is my hymnal organ," said Meeker, looking over the side. "Come right along with it, my good men, but leave it below. How do you do, my dear Mr. Trenholm? Captain, those two men are sailors who are looking for a ship, if—"
"I'll meet you below in a minute in the saloon," said Captain Riggs, handing back the ticket. "Mind that you stay aboard, because we sail at once, sir."
Meeker bowed to me again, and hurried aft, twirling his shell crucifix between his fingers in a nervous manner.
"Hang a parson, anyway," growled Riggs, grinning at me. "They always make a fuss—like as not he'll sing his way to Hong-Kong, with that old melodeon of his. Oh, Mr. Harris! There are two men below with a parson who say they are sailors. Have the Dutchman sign them on if they are able hands."