“What I mean is—do you believe in palmists?”
“I do not. Good-bye.”
“Because a palmist told me——”
“The door,” said Mr. Pynsent, “is one of those which close automatically when the handle is released.”
Having tested this statement and proved it correct, Sam went back to his own quarters, where he found Mr. Clarence (Hash) Todhunter, the popular and energetic chef of the tramp steamer Araminta, awake and smoking a short pipe.
“Who was the old boy?” inquired Mr. Todhunter.
“That was my uncle, the head of the firm.”
“Did I go to sleep in his room?”
“You did.”
“I’m sorry about that, Sam,” said Hash, with manly regret. “I had a late night last night.”