He withdrew, and in a few minutes returned with the articles I required.
'How is the weather?' said I, with a glance at the screwed-up porthole, the glass of which lay as dusky with grime as the scuttle of a whaler that has been three years afishing.
'Very proper wedder, sah,' he answered.
'Captain Bunting up?'
'No, sah.'
'You will be glad to get to Cape Town, I dare say,' said I, scrubbing at my face, and willing to talk since I noticed a disposition in the fellow to linger. 'Do you hail from that settlement, Punmeamootty?'
'No, sah: I 'long to Ceylon,' he answered.
'How many Cingalese are there aboard?'
'Tree,' he answered.
'Do the rest belong to the Cape?'