Trego frowned as he toyed with a bamboo napkin-ring, but said nothing.
"Your red-headed chap is a good man at the helm," said Riggs to me. "He's got the wheel now, and, with the other two, I'll have good quartermasters. The chinkies are poor steerers."
"Meester Trenholm ees breeng a sailor, too?" demanded Trego, turning his black eyes on me in a manner that I could not understand.
"He brought my baggage aboard," said I, somewhat annoyed. "He offered his services to Captain Riggs, and was hired, and it is no affair of mine."
"The little man with hair of red?" persisted Trego.
"Decidedly red."
Knowing, as I did, that he had charge of the ship—a fact which he evidently wished to keep from Meeker and me, judging from his signals to the captain—I understood in a way his interest in the crew.
"Pardon, captain," said Trego abruptly. "I must go to my cabeen for some cigarettes. Soon I will return. I hope you will be here."
It struck me that his suggestion that Captain Riggs wait for him was more in the nature of a command than a request.
Rajah served coffee again, and the three of us fell silent. It was an awkward situation, for we all felt embarrassed—at least I did, as a result of Trego's displeasure over the method of recruiting the crew. I wished that I had left Petrak on the dock.