“Why, we have hearty appetites, ourselves, my lad, an’ there’s no call for you to starve as I knows on,” with a wink at me. “You’ll eat at our table an’ have the best the ship affords.”
“That’s what I want,” said Archie, nodding his bullet head; “there’s nothing too good for me. What’s the price for the passage?”
I told him.
“That’s a pretty steep figure,” he rejoined, uneasily. “I can take an ocean liner for about the same cost.”
“It is your privilege, sir,” I said, stiffly. “We don’t want passengers; so we don’t want you. But Mr. Perkins is disposed to accommodate you because your father is one of our shippers. Go or stay, as you like; but make up your mind quickly, for we sail at seven.”
He scowled first at me and then at uncle; but presently he grinned.
“I haven’t a choice,” said he, carelessly. “Pop’s paying the shot, for he wants me to keep an eye on the scarabs and things and see the goods safe landed and the money collected for them. They’re shipped to a lot of dirty Arabs who can’t be trusted. So here’s your money, and I’ll mail the receipt for the passage to Pop before we skate away, so he’ll know it’s you who are robbing him instead of me.”
I felt like punching the cad’s nose, but Uncle Naboth laughed good naturedly and nodded approval.
“That’s businesslike an’ to the point,” said he. “Take the money, Sam, and give our passenger the proper receipt.”
I did so, and Archibald Ackley, Jr., stalked away down the dock to fetch his baggage from the hotel.