Obviously not; it takes money even to buy saki.
“Can’t you take him on, captain?”
Captain, indeed! Of what? The mail steamer, perhaps. I stepped forward eagerly.
“Umph!” said the stranger, looking me over. “On the beach, eh? Why, yes, I am none too full-handed. But it’s too late to sign him on; my articles have been endorsed.
“Still,” he went on, “he can come on board and I’ll set him down as a stowaway, and sign him on when once we’re clear of port.”
“Good!” cried the vice-consul. “There you are! Now don’t loaf and make us ashamed to ask a favor of the captain next time.”
“Here’s a yen,” said the captain. “Go get something to eat and wait for me on the jetty.”
I raced away to the Home to invite the Chilian to a farewell luncheon; then returned to the appointed rendezvous. The day was stormy, and a dozen downpours drenched me as many times during the seven hours that I waited. Towards nightfall the captain drove up in a ’rickshaw and, without giving me the least sign of recognition, stepped into his launch. As he disappeared in the cabin below, I sprang to the deck of the craft.
Ten minutes later I should have given something to have been able to spring back on the wharf. The launch raced at full speed out across the harbor, past the last steamer riding at anchor, and turned her prow towards the open sea. Where in the name of Father Neptune was she bound? I wiped the water from my eyes and gazed in astonishment at the receding shore. The last tramp was already far astern. The higher waves of the outer bay caught the tiny craft as she slipped through the mouth of the breakwater and sent me waltzing about the slippery deck. Had the long-haired lunatic in the cabin chosen a launch for a sea voyage or—? Then all at once I understood, and gasped with dismay. Far off through the driving rain appeared the towering masts of the sailing vessels, and that one towards which we were headed had her sails bent, ready for departure. That blessed vice-consul had sentenced me to work my way home on a windjammer!
