It was Ralph Cummings, the operator whose place had been taken by Sam Smalley on Jack’s recommendation.
[CHAPTER XXIII—FALSE FRIENDSHIP]
Jack had no great liking for Cummings. In fact, at the time the latter lost his job on the Tropic Queen, he had left in a rage, swearing that he would “get even.”
But now he held out his hand with a frank smile, or one that was intended to be frank but was not, for Cummings hadn’t that kind of a face. He was about Jack’s age, with sandy hair, low, rather receding forehead and shifty, light eyes that had a habit of looking on the ground when he spoke.
“Well, well, Ready,” he exclaimed. “It’s good to see a face from home.”
“Thanks,” said Jack, “but if I recollect rightly you were not so crazy about seeing me again, the last time we met.”
He instinctively distrusted this fellow. There was something assumed, something that did not ring true about his apparent heartiness.
“Oh, come now, Ready, here we are thousands of miles from home and you’re still holding that old grudge against me! Shake hands, man, and forget it.”
Jack began to feel rather ashamed of his brusqueness. After all, Cummings might be more unfortunate in manner than intentionally unpleasant.
“That’s all right, Cummings,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m glad to see you, too. Here on a ship?”