"Carry on, then," was the brief rejoinder, and the introductory interview terminated.
Truth to tell, Captain Antonius Bullock was not particularly fond of wireless operators. This antipathy was not due to the individual but to the system. Although wireless officers came under the captain's orders for disciplinary purposes, they were governed by the rules and regulations of the wireless company who employed them. Consequently it was possible, and often probable, that the Old Man might issue an order to the radio staff that ran directly counter to the wireless regulations; and, if the skipper were short-tempered and disinclined to listen to explanations, matters would come to a climax by the wireless officer flatly but firmly declining to carry out the Old Man's behests.
On the previous voyage such an incident had actually occurred. Captain Bullock had given an impossible order—impossible according to the wireless operator's reading of the regulations. The Old Man lost his temper and told the operator to work double watches for the rest of the voyage; the latter retaliated by "logging" the skipper. This drastic step rather frightened the choleric Bullock, especially when, on further consideration, he found that he was in the wrong. Before the West Barbican arrived in London River, skipper and wireless operator had a private and amicable conversation, with the result that the latter expunged the offending record from the log. But the matter still rankled in Captain Antonius Bullock's broad bosom, and, since he could not consign the system to perdition, he vented his resentment upon the wireless officers under his command.
There was no denying Captain Bullock's qualifications as a seaman. He was courageous, resourceful, skilful, and, withal, cautious. He had been at sea for more than thirty-five years, having served his apprenticeship in a square-rigged ship and worked his way up through that roughest of rough schools—the South American cattle-boats—to his present responsible position of senior captain of the Blue Crescent Line.
Outside the captain's cabin Peter was met by a tall, slim Hindustani wearing a blue dungaree suit, a pair of straw-plaited shoes, and a red "pill-box" hat.
With Oriental obeisance, yet not without a certain display of dignity, the "boy" salaamed.
"Me Mahmed, sahib. Me you boy," he announced.
Peter regarded his new acquaintance critically. Mahmed was a Madrasi of about twenty years of age, with features handsome in an Oriental way. In spite of his weird attire—for during coaling operations the native crew had discarded their smart but serviceable uniforms—there was something about the youth that impressed his new master favourably.
"Want char, sahib?"
The word "char" was not a stranger to Peter Mostyn. Of Eastern derivation, and meaning "tea", it has been adopted by Britons in all quarters of the globe; and even in Flanders and the north of France peasants have learned the word.