“Well, well! You have certainly made a mess of it. I must go and tell the Captain——”
“The Captain! We thought you were the Captain.”
“No; I’m the Purser. How much money have you, by the way?”
“Seven pounds, sir, and twenty-five dollars.”
“Hm! Sixty dollars. Not much more than enough to pay your passage by steerage. And then you will be left paupers in New Orleans. Hm! I must go and talk to the Captain.”
“If you please, sir,” said Percy, “can’t we earn our passage somehow? We are both strong, and we’ll do anything.”
“I’ll see what can be done. Meanwhile you must have something to eat. Come with me.”
The Purser led us to the Steward’s pantry, and there left us busily and satisfactorily engaged in demolishing a dish of cold ham and a pile of bread and butter.
“Percy,” said I, as soon as we were left to ourselves, “we’ve got into a pretty hobble. How are we going to get out of it?”
“I don’t know how we are going to get out of it,” replied my companion. “Unless we should meet another ship and the Captain should send us back we shall have to go on to New Orleans. As far as we are concerned I don’t care; it is thinking of the folks at home that bothers me. They won’t know what has become of us, and there will be no means of letting them know for three weeks, perhaps. If there was any way of getting back I’d go back, and chance being hung, rather than let them worry over us such a long time.”