"Oh, no, I'm not a thief," he said.
"Waal, then, just look jerky, and tell these beggars all I ask you to."
So jerky did Kep look and act that in two minutes' time the men were engaged.
"And that," said the skipper, "makes up my complement, and when they've signed articles, we'll sail."
"Bothered!" he added, "if I don't think you'd do, boy, to help our steward and cook. You look a play-acting kind of a chap, can ye do anything likely to amoose us."
"I can pipe if the men want to dance on a Saturday night, or when you're heaving the capstan."
"Pipe? Waal, I'd like to hear yer."
Out came the little piccolo, and in half a minute Kep commanded the whole situation. Drunken sailors crawled out of their corners to dance, sailors' sweethearts all kinds and colours joined in, and even the doorway was blocked by dusky faces listening.
It was a mad five minutes.
"Hurrah!" cried the skipper, beating the table with his brown fist. "Strike me lucky if ever I heard its equal! Why, siree, the pied piper of Hamelin wouldn't be in it with you. Give us yer flipper, younk. Will you sign on?"