"Oh, I know I played the fool," he conceded. "But it isn't often I do. I must have gone off in the fog. How did you get at me?"
I told him.
"That was plucky," he said admiringly. "I don't know two folks I'd risk the same for."
"There wasn't much risk," I answered. "It was only a question of taking a cold bath out of season."
"Well!" he said, and whistled. "There's white people everywhere, I guess. Business good?"
The question was abrupt, and I could not avoid it. "You have your answer," I replied, with a gesture at the room, and taking out my cigar-case I offered him one.
He accepted it, bit off the end, and spat it on the floor, as if preoccupied. His brow wrinkled, as if the mental exercise were unusual and difficult.
"The Sea Queen is a rum bird," he said presently, "but there's plenty of money behind. And she wants a doctor."
"Well," said I, smiling at him.
"We left a Scotch chap sick at Hamburg," he continued. "The boss is a secret beggar, with pots of money, they say. We chartered out of the Clyde, and picked him up at Hamburg—him and others."