e by die that island?"

"St. Helena," I prompted.

"Yes, that place Louis he born. He talk very good English."

At this moment, entering the hall from the deck, Mr. Mellaire, just
relieved by the mate, passed me on his way to the big room in the stern
where the second table was set. His "Good evening, sir," was as stately
and courteous as any southern gentleman of the old days could have
uttered it. And yet I could not like the man. His outward seeming was
so at variance with the personality that resided within. Even as he
spoke and smiled I felt that from inside his skull he was watching me,
studying me. And somehow, in a flash of intuition, I knew not why, I was
reminded of the three strange young men, routed last from the forecastle,
to whom Mr. Pike had read the law. They, too, had given me a similar
impression.

Behind Mr. Mellaire slouched a self-conscious, embarrassed individual,
with the face of a stupid boy and the body of a giant. His feet were
even larger than Mr. Pike's, but the hands--I shot a quick glance to
see--were not so large as Mr. Pike's.

As they passed I looked inquiry to Wada.

"He carpenter. He sat second table. His name Sam Lavroff. He come from
New York on ship. Steward say he very young for carpenter, maybe twenty-
two, three years old."

As I approached the open port over my desk I again heard the swish and
gurgle of water and again realized that we were under way. So steady and
noiseless was our progress, that, say seated at table, it never entered
one's head that we were moving or were anywhere save on the solid land. I
had been used to steamers all my life, and it was difficult immediately
to adjust myself to the absence of the propeller-thrust vibration.

"Well, what do you think?" I asked Wada, who, like myself, had never made
a sailing-ship voyage.

He smiled politely.

"Very funny ship. Very funny sailors. I don't know. Mebbe all right. We
see."

"You think trouble?" I asked pointedly.

"I think sailors very funny," he evaded.

CHAPTER VIII

Having lighted my cigarette, I strolled for'ard along the deck to where
work was going on. Above my head dim shapes of canvas showed in the
starlight. Sail was being made, and being made slowly, as I might judge,
who was only the veriest tyro in such matters. The indistinguishable
shapes of men, in long lines, pulled on ropes. They pulled in sick and
dogged silence, though Mr. Pike, ubiquitous, snarled