"I'll sign!" said Stirling, rising. "I'll have to get my dunnage bag. It's at Antone's, down by the ferry."
"We'll tend to that!"
Stirling turned toward Cushner. "Have you entirely outfitted?" he asked, professionally. "Got all of your whaling gear aboard?"
"We have! Six boats! A forehold chockablock and whale line and irons. Papers, everything, all right to clear. Some of the crew have been North before. The rest can learn. You and I can tend to that, eh?"
Stirling swept the cabin comprehensively. "Too fine a ship to buck the old floes with," he said, glancing down at the skipper.
"Nothing too fine for the North!" exclaimed Marr. "Write me out an order for your bag. I'll send Snowball, my cabin boy, with the dinghy."
Stirling scribbled an order on the back of a shipping master's card. He passed it over to Marr, who touched a button at the end of the piano. A negro, sleepy-eyed and curious, thrust a kinky head through an after doorway.
Marr stepped over the rugs and whispered his instructions. Stirling, whose ears were sharp, caught a command to wait on shore for somebody. This order was repeated.
The negro vanished, and Marr paced athwart the ship. Wheeling suddenly, he listened with his ear cocked toward the deck beams. A shuffling of feet sounded overhead as men sprang down from the rail. The bell in the wheelhouse struck seven times. It was echoed from forward.
"That's Whitehouse!" said the captain. "We'll all have a drink!"