A hand gripped McDougal’s shoulder, and he turned, with a nervous start, to confront a hale, well-dressed mariner with a yellow beard, whose eyes twinkled merrily as he loudly exclaimed:
“It vas mein old pal what I haf last met at Port Arthur. Ho, ho, McDougal, how goes it mit you?”
The speaker drew up a chair, pounded on the table to summon a waiter, and told him:
“A bundle of trinks, schnell, or I bite you in two.”
“I’m delighted to see you again, Captain Spreckels,” stammered McDougal, at which O’Shea introduced himself, and the mariner explained with a jolly laugh:
“McDougal vas a king among men. We haf met only one hour in Port Arthur when I haf told him things what was locked so deep in my bosom dot they haf never before come up. Perhaps we vas not so sober as now, so? What you do with yourself, McDougal? American Trading Company yet already?”
“I am on the beach, Captain Spreckels, and not fit to work at anything for a while.”
The skipper appeared vastly disturbed. Stroking his beard, he reflected for a moment and then shouted:
“My bark, Wilhelmina Augusta, sails for Hamburg to-morrow morning early. She is now at the mouth of the river. I vas come up in a tug to find if Paddy Blake haf three more men for me. McDougal, you comes mit me. It vas the great idea, eh? The sea-voyage will do you so much good you will not know yourself. I vish to haf your good company. My cabin is as big as a house. It will cost you noddings. If you want to come out East again, I can bring you back next voyage. Listen! Give me no arguments. You vas seedy and down on your luck.”
McDougal lacked the will power to resist this masterful mandate. And perhaps here was a fighting chance providentially offered. On the sweet, clean sea, far from the dissolute ports which had wrecked his manhood, he might build up health and strength and throw all regrets away. A fit of nervous weakness made the tears spring to his eyes, and he faltered unevenly: