“D’n’-know,” grunted the man. “Dieppe, maybe, or St. Malo.”
“When does she sail?” asked the boy again.
“High tide; ’bout an hour.”
“Thank you,” said Percy, who had asked the questions; and then, turning to me, he suggested that we had time to go and get some breakfast.
In a greasy little den by the waterside we managed to make a very hearty meal, for we were too hungry to be particular, and in half an hour we sallied forth again much refreshed. Somewhat to our consternation, as we issued from the house we ran plump into the arms of a big policeman, who eyed us, as we thought, with suspicious keenness, but as he did not address us we walked back to the vessel, to which a gang-plank had now been run out.
There did not appear to be many passengers going aboard, but among them we noticed a large family, father and mother, three daughters, and a son, awaiting their turn, and joining ourselves to this party we walked on board with them, apparently without exciting any suspicion. If any of the officers thought anything about it at all, they probably supposed we were coming to see the rest of the family off.
We went at once down to the saloon, and walking up a long passage toward the stern, tapped at the door of one of the state-rooms. There was no answer, so, opening the door, we peeped in.
“This will do, Tom,” whispered my companion. “See; the beds are not made up; this cabin is not taken.”
We slipped in, shut the door, and crawled beneath the berths on either side. For the time, at any rate, we were safe.
During the long walk of the night before we had discussed a plan of action, and had decided that, instead of paying for our passage before starting, we would get on board and hide, if possible, in order to avoid unpleasant explanations until it should be too late to send us back; in which design we had succeeded more easily than we had ventured to hope.