"Waiting for what?"
"Waiting for two hundred yen to fly up and knock me dead. I wait and no yen fly up to strike me on the cranium. Now I go with fine ship, and work like plain man."
"You have a sense of humor, king," said I, "and sink me if I don't try to get you a job wrastling the dishes aft. How about it? Can you sling the pots—are you a number-one pot-wrastler?"
"I never wrastle; a little jujutsu sometimes when necessary for take care, but I work at anything your august self tells. If honorable commander tells me to wrastle pots, I try him so. I pretty good with sword or short knife——"
"Not so fast, king; this isn't a man-of-war; no fighting here. All the fracasing done here is done by my august self and the other mate, Mr. Bill Slade, both, as you say, honorable men, and some hustlers when it comes right down to handling cloth in a blow. What I want—honorable ship wants—is a man to give the eats aft—savvy? Bring in the hash from honorable cook in galley—see? Set dish on table, wash dish off table. You know."
"But I am soldier—son of Samurai. I do not like dishwork; but if no other way, I do mean work to get to Tokyo," he said sadly.
"You're on," I hastened to say. "You're on, king, but in the future you will be known as Koko. Savvy?"
"As Mister Komuri," he interrupted, with a look from those slits of eyes that called my attention.
"No misters aboard here but my honorable self and mate. Rules of honorable ship, you know. Sorry, but august skipper has discipline, and you are soldier. You savvy? We'll compromise on Komuri. How's that—just plain Komuri, steward, hash boy, hey?"
"Your august self, yes; to common men, Mister Komuri, yes."