From the grand saloon--which was like a palatial drawing-room, in size
as well as in gorgeous furniture--to the mighty cranks and boilers of
its engines, everything in and about the ship was calculated to amaze.
As Slagg justly remarked, "It was stunnin'."

When our hero was saturated with the "Big Ship" till he could hold no
more, his friend took him back to his berth, and left him there for a
time to his meditations.

Returning soon after, he sat down on a looker.

"I say, Robin Wright," he began, thrusting his hands into his
trousers-pockets, "it looks a'most as if I had smuggled you aboard of
this ship like a stowaway. Nobody seems to know you are here, an'
what's more, nobody seems to care. Your partikler owner ain't turned up
yet, an' it's my opinion he won't turn up to-night, so I've spoke to the
stooard--he's _my_ owner, you know--an' he says you'd better just turn
into my berth to-night, an' you'll get showed into your own to-morrow."

"But where will _you_ sleep?" asked Robin, with some hesitation.

"Never you mind that, my young electrician. That's _my_ business. What
you've got to do is to turn in."

Jeff and another lad, who were preparing to retire for the night at the
time, laughed at this, but Robin paid no attention, thanked his friend,
and said that as he was rather tired he would accept his kind offer.

Thereafter, pulling out the small Bible which he had kept in his pocket
since leaving home, he went into a corner, read a few verses, and then
knelt down to pray.

The surprise of the other lads was expressed in their eyes, but they
said nothing.

Just then the door opened, and the lad named Stumps entered. Catching
sight of Robin on his knees he opened his eyes wide, pursed his mouth,
and gave a low whistle. Then he went up to Robin and gave him a slight
kick. Supposing that it was an accident, Robin did not move, but on
receiving another and much more decided kick, he rose and turned round.
At the same moment Stumps received a resounding and totally unexpected
slap on the cheek from Jim Slagg, who planted himself before him with
clenched fists and flashing eyes.

"What d'ye mean by interferin' wi' _my_, friend at his dewotions, you
monkey-faced polypus?" he demanded fiercely.

The monkey-faced polypus replied not a word, but delivered a
right-hander that might have felled a small horse. Jim Slagg however
was prepared for that. He turned his head neatly to one side so as to
let