"At sea? Well, that won't be against you here," returned the gentleman, with a meaning smile. "It would be well if some of my men were a little more accustomed to the sea, for they suffer much from sea-sickness. You can go below, my man, and get breakfast. You'll find your future messmate busy at his, I doubt not. Here, steward," (turning to one of the men who chanced to pass at the moment,) "take Ruby Brand—that is your name, I think?"
"It is, sir."
"Take Brand below, and introduce him to James Dove as his assistant."
The steward escorted Ruby down the ladder that conducted to those dark and littered depths of the ship's hull that were assigned to the artificers as their place of abode. But amidst a good deal of unavoidable confusion, Ruby's practised eye discerned order and arrangement everywhere.
"This is your messmate, Jamie Dove," said the steward, pointing to a massive dark man, whose outward appearance was in keeping with his position as the Vulcan of such an undertaking as he was then engaged in. "You'll find him not a bad feller if you only don't cross him." He added, with a wink, "His only fault is that he's given to spoilin' good victuals, being raither floored by sea-sickness if it comes on to blow ever so little."
"Hold your clapper, lad," said the smith, who was at the moment busily engaged with a mess of salt pork, and potatoes to match. "Who's your friend?"
"No friend of mine, though I hope he'll be one soon," answered the steward. "Mr. Stevenson told me to introduce him to you as your assistant."
The smith looked up quickly, and scanned our hero with some interest; then, extending his great hard hand across the table, he said, "Welcome, messmate; sit down, I've only just begun."
Ruby grasped the hand with his own, which, if not so large, was quite as powerful, and shook the smith's right arm in a way that called forth from that rough-looking individual a smile of approbation.
"You've not had breakfast, lad?"