"Good. I don't cotton on to these blessed trains. Every time they jolt I fancy we're on the rocks. Give me a ship, an' the steady beat of the screw, sez I. Then I know where I am."
"I quite agree with you, captain, but you must put up with a fair spell of railway bumping before you reach Marseilles."
Stump gave him a questioning look. Royson did not resemble the type of land shark with which he was familiar. Yet his eyes gleamed like those of a perplexed bull.
"I s'pose you heard my missus an' me talking of Marseilles," he growled, "but how do you know I'm a captain."
"It is written on your bag."
"Well, my missus wrote that—"
"Moreover," went on Dick, determined to break the ice, "I'm your second mate."
"Wot?" roared Stump, leaning forward and placing a hand on each knee, while his fiery glance took in every detail of Royson's appearance. "You—my—second—mate?"
The words formed a crescendo of contemptuous analysis. But Dick faced the storm boldly.
"Yes," he said. "I don't see any harm in stating the fact, now that I know who you are."