"N-N-N-No, sir. I don't stutter at all. I'm just a little ch-ch-ch-chilly." And the lad shivered violently.
"He was sleeping on the pier in a pile of oyster sacks," said Sailor Bishop in explanation.
Captain Bagley stepped forward and laid his hand on young Cunningham's wrist. It was like ice. The captain ran a quick, investigating finger over the lad's shoulder. "Hell!" he exclaimed. "The kid ain't got nothin' on."
He turned to the cook who was just cleaning up the breakfast dishes. "Dick," he said, "give this boy some grub and a bowl of coffee, and make it hot, too."
Again he turned to the lad before him. "Get over beside the stove," he said. "Why in the deuce didn't you tell a fellow you were freezing to death? Sleep out in a pile of oyster sacks! Why didn't you tell a fellow you had no place to sleep? You could have had a bunk on the Bertha B."
Alec Cunningham tried to express his gratitude, but the right words were hard to find.
"I—I—I'm much obliged to you," he said. "I didn't get here till late last night and I didn't know anybody, and I didn't want to disturb strangers. But it was cold."
"Didn't get here till late last night," repeated the captain. "Where do you come from, and what did you come here for, if you don't know anything about oystering and don't know anybody here?"
"I thought maybe I could find my uncle," replied Alec.
"Then you do know somebody here," said the captain sharply, and again he looked searchingly at the lad before him.