“That’s so!” put in the “fat jolly chap” eagerly; “he sent a note to me in the drawing-room the night of the ball. But I sent back word that my force was full.”
“I see,” pondered the captain. “You’re the first man that ever stowed away on a vessel under my command,” he went on, almost sadly; “you make yourself liable to severe punishment, you know?”
“I’d put him in irons and send him up, sir,” burst out the mate.
“N-no,” returned the skipper, “that wouldn’t be just, Dick. You know Port Saïd. But you know you will have to work on the voyage,” he added, turning to me.
“Why, certainly, sir,” I cried, suddenly assailed with the fear that he might see, through my coat, the kodak 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?”
“I’ve more than I can use now,” replied the heavy-weight.
“Beg pardon, sir,” put in the mate, “but the chief engineer says he can use an extra man down below.”