th, as the expression goes, captain."

"I don't want to spoil your appetite," said Riggs.

"Of course, Mr. Trego needs those things, as he is--"

"A passenger," said Trego, giving the captain a quick glance.

"A passenger," said Riggs blankly. "To be sure, a passenger. Now, Mr.
Meeker, I wish you would say a grace, if it pleases you."

Meeker bowed his head and mumbled something which I could not make out;
besides, I was much more interested in a little byplay between Captain
Riggs and Trego, which began as soon as Meeker and I had piously cast our
eyes downward.

It was a signal conveyed by Trego to the captain, in which he cautioned
him to silence about something, by putting his finger to his lips, as if
some subject were tabooed. Riggs nodded as if he understood. Before
Meeker had finished, Trego looked at him and scowled, to convey to the
captain that he did not like the missionary.

"The weather is going to be fine from the way it looks now," said Riggs,
in an altered tone, as if he wanted to shift the conversation into more
congenial lines. "I trust we will all do our best to stay up to the
weather in that respect--quick passage and good company keeps everybody
on good terms and in good spirits," he added significantly.

Then he began giving us the stock-jokes of the China Sea and telling
stories of his younger days, when he had better commands than the old
_Kut Sang_. He was a bluff but likable old sea-dog, but I saw that he
observed Meeker closely as he talked, and I knew that he was none too
well taken with him.

So the meal went on well enough. Night had fallen upon us with tropical
swiftness, and a cooling breeze was blowing through the open ports,
charged with the salt tang of the sea. The _Kut Sang_ was humming along,
and there was a soothing murmur through the ancient tub as she shouldered
the gentle swells of the bay.

The saloon was cozy and we dallied at table, chiefly because we did not
like to leave while Riggs was telling his stories, although I would have
preferred my cigar on deck.

There was something about the little party in the saloon of the
_Kut Sang_ that evening that held my attention. To me the air seemed
charged with a foreboding of something imminent--something out of the
ordinary, something to be long remembered. I told myself, in a
premonition of things to come, that I should always remember Captain
Riggs and the Rev. Luther Meeker and Trego and Rajah, and the very
pattern