our company, Mr.
Bloxford," said Dene, going straight to the point.

The manager stared at him. "Take you on! Why, aren't you one of the
hands? Then what the blank are you doing here?"

"No, I'm not engaged at present," replied Dene; and he explained how he
had been caught up in the turmoil and had remained on board. While he
was speaking, Mr. Bloxford had been eyeing the tall, well-made figure,
the pleasant, handsome face, and, being a man of the world--and a circus
manager to boot--he had no difficulty in seeing that the young man,
standing so modestly, and yet so easily, before him, was a gentleman.

"I suppose you know that you're a stowaway, that I could have you
chucked overboard, or put into irons or something," he said, furiously,
his eyes snapping.

Dene smiled merely.

"Well, now you're here, I'll have to take you on, I guess," said Mr.
Bloxford. "You seem to be handy with horses."

"I'm fond of them," said Dene.

"That's all right," rejoined Mr. Bloxford. "I suppose there's nothing
you can do in the professional way? You'd make a good acrobat, or--well,
you'd shape into several things." He looked the figure up and down
again, just as he would have examined an animal offered for his
inspection. "But we'll see about that later on. Thirty bob a week. How
will that suit you?"

"It will suit me very well; and I'll try to earn it," said Derrick.

Mr. Bloxford stared at him. "Here, don't startle me; I've got a weak
heart," he observed, with a grin. "You say it as if you meant it. Here,
what's your name?"

"Sydney Green," replied Dene, with a promptitude acquired by his recent
experience.

"Right!" said the manager. "Have a drink?"

He poured out a liberal quantity of champagne for Dene, and, filling his
own glass, raised it, eyeing Dene keenly over the edge of it.

"Here's to us! I rather like the look of you; but just listen to me,
young fellow. I don't care who and what a man is when he joins my
company, he's under my orders. See? And look here, I don't ask any
questions; I take a man for what he says he is. You say your name's
Green. _Dark_ Green, I expect, eh? Well, it's no business of mine. You
know where we're bound for, I suppose? Well, we're bound for South
America. We're going to do it thoroughly; if ever we get there, which
seems doubtful, for this infernal old tramp is more rotten than I
thought. But she's cheap, anyhow; and economy is my motto. Thirty
shillings a week." He wrote down Den