Mr. Olbinett chanced to be passing that minute on his way from the galley, and what was his astonishment at hearing himself addressed like this by a lanky individual of whom he had no knowledge whatever.
“Where can he have come from? Who is he?” he thought to himself. “He can not possibly be one of Lord Glenarvan’s friends?”
However, he went up on the poop, and approached the unknown personage, who accosted him with the inquiry, “Are you the steward of this vessel?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Olbinett; “but I have not the honor of—”
“I am the passenger in cabin Number 6.”
“Number 6!” repeated the steward.
“Certainly; and your name, what is it?”
“Olbinett.”
“Well, Olbinett, my friend, we must think of breakfast, and that pretty quickly. It is thirty-six hours since I have had anything to eat, or rather thirty-six hours that I have been asleep—pardonable enough in a man who came all the way, without stopping, from Paris to Glasgow. What is the breakfast hour?”
“Nine o’clock,” replied Olbinett, mechanically.