And for those who make a hobby of the irony of fate, I remember that but for the innocent and haphazard intervention of a perfectly irrelevant individual, I shouldn't have been able to get ashore at all. I woke early. For some mysterious reason connected with tonnage, the old Manola had a small bathroom at the after end of the bridge deck, a most unusual appurtenance in a tramp steamer of her day, as some of you fellows know well enough. I had fixed up a contraption by which I could pump sea water through a home-made shower. I was in this place having a wash down and towelling vigorously when I heard the steward talking to the cook outside the porthole. He was saying that he was going ashore to the market to get some fresh green stuff and the cook was to tell the old man that he would be back by eight o'clock. The steward, an extremely quiet and modest creature with the ferocious name of Tonderbeg, was standing close by, and the blue wreathes from his cigarette curled into the port. He looked up and saw me, making a slight bow and smile, and raising his hand in an automatic way to the salute.
"'Goot morning, Mister Chief,' he said. 'A fine morning, Sir.' I conceded this and asked him if it was far to the market.
"'Not far. Just a nice walk for a morning like dis, Sir. A very interesting place, the market. In the Old Town.'
"'Well', I said, 'if you'll wait a few minutes, I'll take a walk up there with you.'
"His good-looking blond features became suffused with a warm gratification and his Teutonic voice went back into his throat, as it were.
"'W'y,' he announced, impressively, 'it would be a pleasure, Mister Chief. I'll chust get de sailor wid de bag.' And he disappeared.
"And I was mysteriously elated. It is useless to attempt any analysis of those fugitive gleams of the future which occasionally distract our minds. Nevertheless I recall it now with irresistible conviction—I was mysteriously elated. I filled my case with cigarettes, took my cap and stick, went back for a handkerchief, and slipped a couple of sovereigns into my pocket with the idea, I suppose, of purchasing fruit. I found my friend Tonderbeg standing by the gangway talking to the Captain. Jack had come up in his pajamas, a remarkable suit of broad purple and saffron stripes, and he stood there yawning and rubbing his massive hairy bosom.
"'Why, where you been, Fred?' he demanded, slyly, 'I'm surprised at you. I thought you was a respectable man.'
"'Well, Jack,' I said, 'as far as I know, I am.' He looked at me for a moment, his head thrown back, his powerful hands flat on his breast, and his big blood-shot brown eyes twinkled.
"'You know what I mean, Fred,' he muttered. 'I'm only jokin'. When are you comin' back? I'm goin' up to the agent's at ten.'