To him Kep reported himself, saluting as he did so. All he received in return was a kind of grunt.
"We don't care much for man-o'-war prattle here," he said. "Go and find something, do. Translate my orders to these grub-eaters."
After doing so for a whole hour, Kep, who was willing and cheerful, bolted down the after companion to the pantry, where he found the steward, a little black-haired young man, with a pleasant face. He was an Austrian, or Swiss, at any rate he talked good French, and for this Kep was thankful.
He had not much to say at first, and the boy was unwilling to force the conversation. Presently, however, he wheeled round on Kep, rubbing hard at a spoon as he did so.
"I think you weel like dis sheep?" he said.
"I don't know yet," returned Kep. "I hope so. Do you?" He spoke in French now. The steward shook his head.
"Glad," he said, "you talk French; we will be companions, comrades. But I am so poor, I must sail in anything. See here."
He took two strides farther forward as he spoke and picked up an electric lantern.
"Follow me. The Capitan has not yet come off, and we sail this evening." He led the way into the saloon, and through it to the spirit-room door, which he opened with a bright and shining key. He now let the lantern's glare fall on the deck inside. It was splatched and spotted with black, so were the bulkheads.
"Claret?" said Kep.