“N—no,” returned the captain; “that wouldn’t be right, Dick. You know Port Said. But you know you will have to work on the voyage,” he added, turning to me.
“Why, certainly, sir,” I cried, suddenly beginning to fear that he might see through my coat the camera that contained a likeness of his ship.
“You told the chief officer you were a sailor, I believe?”
“A. B., sir—and steward.”
“Have you anything you can put him at, Chester?” he asked the steward.
“I’ve more men than I can use now,” replied the steward.
“Beg pardon, sir,” put in the mate; “but the chief engineer says he can use an extra man down below.”
He was a kindly fellow, was the mate. He wanted to force me to shovel coal into the furnace. Not only was the place an oven in that climate, but the Hindu firemen would have made life very disagreeable for me had I been sent to work among them.
“No, no,” answered the commander. “The man is a sailor and a steward; he is not a stoker. You had better take him on deck with you, Dick.”
He started up the ladder.