“Hello, brother,” said the purser, looking at his bandaged head. “What revolution did you come from? Did they make you President or only commander of the navy?”
“Neither,” said Pant with a grin that went far. “I want to go to New York.”
“Got any money?”
“No.”
“Can’t go.”
“That last shipment of chicle you took on board belonged to my grandfather. I’ll wire him for money in New York.”
“There’s lots of broke Americans down here. They’ve all got rich relatives.”
“I’ll prove it.” Sitting down upon the hatch, Pant told things about Colonel Longstreet that went far to prove that he at least was a boon companion of the old man.
“Guess you’re square,” said the purser at last. “Anyway, I’ll take a chance. Steward will fix you up later.”
By careful inquiry Pant learned that the chicle had been stored beneath the forward hatch. The hatch was kept open. There were twenty thousand bunches of bananas on board. They must have air. By leaning far over the hatch he could see ends of the chicle bags. Was the one he wanted there?