“What Chinaman, Nux?” I asked in surprise.
“Hurt man, Marse Sam. He in front stateroom.”
I looked inquiringly at my father.
“We’ve took a passenger, Sam,” said the Captain, calmly buttering his toast. “The ‘Chink’ you took off’n the wreck is a high mandarin, a prince, or suthin’, and wanted to get home to China as soon as possible, fer he’s hurt bad.”
“We don’t usually accept passengers,” I remarked thoughtfully, “but if this poor fellow is injured and homesick, it’s our duty to do what we can for him.”
“And that isn’t much,” added a gruff voice behind me, and the ship’s doctor from the Karamata Maru dropped into a seat at the table and began to eat. We watched him a moment in silence. Then I asked:
“Is your patient very bad, Doctor——”
“Gaylord; my name’s Gaylord. I’m an Englishman, although I sailed on that blasted Jap ship. And my patient, Prince Kai, is dying. He’ll never see China again.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, really distressed, and the others echoed my sympathy.
“He got jammed between the timbers,” explained Dr. Gaylord, as he continued his luncheon, “and although three of his attendants threw themselves around him and met their own death in trying to shield him, the Prince was badly smashed and can’t possibly live more than a day or two. It’s a shame,” he added, shaking his grizzled head, “for Kai Lun Pu has just been made one of the five Viceroys of the Empire, and he’s a fine young fellow who had a promising future. The redemption of China, gentlemen, must come through these young scions of the nobility who are being educated at the colleges of England and America. They’ll imbibe modern, progressive ideas, and in time upset the old prejudices of the Flowery Kingdom altogether.”