The man made no reply, but stared at me, and then went on swiftly.
"Rather abrupt," I commented, smiling.
"Oh, that's nothing. It is only his way," said the good-natured fellow. "He's the boatswain."
"Is Mr. Morland an American?" I asked.
"I don't know, sir. I've hardly seen him. We signed on at Glasgow with a little slip of a fellow representing Mr. Morland—glasses and side-whiskers."
"That would be Mr. Pye," I said.
"Very likely. Would you like to take a squint at the engines? Mr. McCrae is on board."
He led me, without waiting for answer, towards the engine-room, and called out, "Mr. McCrae!" which brought presently a little, red-faced, bearded man from the depths. "This gentleman wants to know what you can do," said my friend, by way of introduction. The engineer nodded towards me. "We can make eighteen," he said, wiping his hands on a greasy piece of rag. "Eighteen at a pinch, but I keep her going steady at fourteen."
"A good boat!" said I.
"Aye, tolerable," he said, and pulled out a sheet of paper, which he began to peruse under the slender light. "This now's another slap in the eye for the Emperor," said McCrae, "this business of the Prince."