“Thank you, sir,” he said, simply.
“But I must warn you of one thing. The bark is not in what we call A-1 condition. If she happens to go to the bottom instead of San Pedro I won’t be responsible for your precious machine.”
“Very well, sir. I will take as many chances as you do.”
“May I ask your name?”
“Moit, sir; Duncan Moit.”
“Scotch?”
“By ancestry, Captain. American by birth.”
“All right; make haste and get your traps aboard as soon as possible.”
“I will. Thank you, Captain Steele.”
He put on his cap and walked hurriedly away, and when he had gone both Mr. Harlan and my father rallied me on account of my queer “passenger.”