hen we may
be able to find him!" cried Nealie, clasping her hands in entreaty.

"Let me see." The purser opened his eyes and glared about him, as if he
expected to find the record of the morning's doings chalked in big
letters somewhere on the clean deck. "First thing after breakfast there
was that affair of the linen having been miscounted. It is funny how
some folks are born without any sense of number. Then there were the
cook's lists to be gone through. I remember seeing the boy then, for he
lent me a pencil when mine broke. Now, what was I doing after that?"

"Oh, make haste, Mr. Bent! Please make haste to remember!" pleaded
Nealie, feeling as if she would really have to take hold of this
slow-witted man, and shake the information out of him if he did not
hurry up a little.

"I've got it!" ejaculated Mr. Bent, slapping his sides with resounding
whacks. "The next thing I did was to go down to the cold storage with
the second officer. We must have been there for nearly an hour, for I
know I was chilled through and through by the time we came up again,
and I have not seen your brother since."

"Then I am quite sure that Rumple must be down in the cold-storage
place, and he will be frozen stiff by this time. Oh, fly, Mr. Bent, and
let him out, for think how awful his sufferings must be!" cried Nealie,
seizing the purser by the arm to drag him along. She had been down in
the cold storage herself, and shivered at the recollection of the Arctic
chill of the place, although she had been hugely interested at seeing
the stacks of frozen provisions which were there to be preserved for
daily use on the voyage.

There was no need to tell Mr. Bent to hurry, as he strode away to his
own particular den to get the keys, and then, with Nealie running close
behind him, made his way down, down, down, until the storeroom corridor
was reached.

The cold-storage rooms were at the far end, and when he thrust the key
into the lock, Nealie could have screamed with the anguish of her keen
apprehension.

Mr. Bent thrust open the door, and then both of them cried out in
amazement, for the place was brilliant with electric light, and Rumple,
covered from head to foot in hoar frost, as if he had just stepped out
of the Arctic regions, was lifting boxes of butter from the shelves,
and then lifting them back again, as hard as he could work.

"I'm about tired of this," he managed to drawl out in a would-be casual
tone, and then he suddenl