'Do you take any company with you?'
'Only my daughter.'
'Then,' said Mr. Fairbanks, 'the skipper must not drink, and must not swear. He must be a man of cleanly appearance, of considerable experience, and able to hold his own in conversation.'
'So,' said Mr. Vanderholt.
'I believe,' said Mr. Fairbanks, 'that I know the man for you. He had charge of a ship of ours, the Sandyfoot. It was but yesterday I nodded to him outside these offices. If you take him you will carry a romance in pilot-cloth to sea with you. This fellow—you will not believe what I am going to tell you after you see him—was in love with a girl. He broke with her in a quarrel, and went to sea, and by a homeward ship wrote to ask her forgiveness and keep her heart whole for him, as he would shortly return. He was swept overboard in a storm, picked up floating on a buoy by a three-masted schooner, and carried to China. On his arrival home, he found his sweetheart had gone out of her mind. She recovered by degrees, under his influence, and they were to be married. They proceeded together to church, and at the altar she went mad again. Of course, the parson refused to officiate, and a few weeks later the poor thing died.'
'What is the name of our friend?' inquired Mr. Vanderholt, who had listened without much interest to this romantic story.
'Thomas Glew.'
'Originally a nickname, meant to stick,' said Mr. Vanderholt dryly. 'Send him to me. You will oblige me by doing so.'
'I'll endeavour to find him this afternoon, and you shall see him to-morrow,' answered the other. 'And you really enjoy the prospect of a cruise to the Equator and home?'
'Would I go if I did not?'