are in my house," said I, "but you might be at the bottom of the
basin."

"Good heavens!" he said, with a laugh. "I feel mighty shivery. Don't
you think a drop of something----"

I looked at him closely. "I think it wouldn't be a bad idea in the
circumstances," I said.

"Oh, I know I had too much to carry!" he said recklessly. "It made me
quarrel with that wretched Legrand, too--a fat-headed fool!"

I rang for water, and mixed two hot jorums of whisky, one of which he
sipped contentedly.

"You see, we had a rousing time coming over," he observed, as if in
apology. I looked my question, and he answered it. "Hamburg, in the
_Sea Queen_. The old man skipped at Tilbury, and Barraclough's a real
blazer."

"Which accounts for the blaze I saw," I remarked drily.

"Oh, you saw that. Yes, it was that that made Legrand mad. He's
particular. But what's the odds? The boss has to pay."

His eyes roamed about the shabby room--shabby from the wretched
pictures on the walls to the threadbare carpet underfoot, and, though
he was not a gentleman, I felt some feeling of irritation. Perhaps if
he had been a gentleman I should not have been put out at this scrutiny
of my poverty.

"You saved me, and that's certain," he began again. "Say, are you a
doctor?"

I admitted it.

"Well, can you recommend another glass of toddy?" he asked, smiling,
and his smile was pleasant.

"In the circumstances again--perhaps," I said.

"Oh, I know I played the fool," he conceded. "But it isn't often I do.
I must have gone off in the fog. How did you get at me?"

I told him.

"That was plucky," he said admiringly. "I don't know two folks I'd risk
the same for."

"There wasn't much risk," I answered. "It was only a question of taking
a cold bath out of season."

"Well!" he said, and whistled. "There's white people everywhere, I
guess. Business good?"

The question was abrupt, and I could not avoid it. "You have your
answer," I replied, with a gesture at the room, and taking out my
cigar-case I offered him one.

He accepted it, bit off the end, and spat it on the floor, as if
preoccupied. His brow wrinkled, as if the mental exercise were unusual
and difficult.

"The _Sea Queen_ is a rum bird," he said presently, "but there's plenty
of money behind. And she wants a doctor."

"Well," said I, smiling at him.

"We left a Scotch chap sick at Hamburg," he continued. "The boss is a
secret beggar, with pots of money, they say. We chartered