"Yes; two ladies what came with him—Miss Morland and another lady, a dark one," said my friend.
"Oh!" said I. "Then you're off for a pleasure cruise."
"I hardly know, sir," said he. "They do say New York, but I haven't heard definite."
That looked in favour of my theory of Mr. Morland as an American. He was perhaps a Trust King, and Miss Morland a vivacious "beauty" from Chicago.
Here my companion suggested that I might care to have a look at the yacht.
"My friend," said I, "you mustn't let me take you on false pretences. I may be your doctor, and I may be not."
"Oh, that's all right, sir," said he easily. "It can't do no harm. We're only loading up with provisions, and there's no mess about."
We ascended the gangway, and entered the dark ship, which was singularly silent. He had already the sailor's affection for his floating home, and pointed me out one or two points for admiration which I understood but ill, as they were technical. As we were peeping into the saloon, a man passed us and stopped sharply.
"That you, Ellison?" he asked in a harsh voice. "Who's that?"
"Only a gentleman having a look round. He's to be doctor," said the quartermaster.