“Regular tub, this ship!” growled the Man-Who-Knew-It-All to the Bum Actor. “Screw out of the water every souse she makes; lot of dirty sailors skating over the decks instead of keeping below where they belong; Chief Engineer loafing in the Captain's room every chance he gets--there he goes now--and it's the second time since breakfast. And the Captain is no better! And just look at the accommodations--three stewards and a woman! What's that to look after thirty-five passengers? Half the time I have to wait an hour to get something to eat--such as it is. And my bunk wasn't made up yesterday until plumb night. That bunch in the steerage must be having a hard time.” “We get all we pay for,” essayed the Travelling Man. “She ain't rigged for cabin passengers, and the Captain don't want 'em. Didn't want to take me--except our folks had a lot of stuff aboard. Had enough passengers, he said.” “Well, he took the widow and her two kids”--continued the Man-Who-Knew-It-All--“and they were the last to get aboard. Half the time he's playing nurse instead of looking after his ship. Had 'em all on the bridge yesterday.” “He _had_ to take 'em,” protested the Travelling Man. “She was put under his charge by his owners--so one of the stewards told me.” “Oh!--_had to_, did he! Yes--I've been there before. No use talking--this line's got to be investigated, and I'm going to do the investigating as soon as I get ashore, and don't you forget it! What's your opinion?” The Bum Actor made no reply. He had been cold and hungry too many days and nights to find fault with anything. But for the generosity of a few friends he would still be tramping the streets, sleeping where he could. Three meals a day--four, if he wanted them--and a bed in a room all to himself instead of being one in a row of ten, was heaven to him. What the Captain, or the Engineer, or the crew, or anybody else did, was of no moment, so he got back alive. As to the widow's children, he had tried to pick up an acquaintance with them himself--especially the boy--but she had taken them away when she saw how shabby were his clothes. The Texas Cattle Agent now spoke up. He was a tall, raw-boned man, with a red chin-whisker and red, weather-scorched face, whose clothing looked as if it had been pulled out of shape in the effort to accommodate itself to the spread of his shoulders and round of his thighs. His trousers were tucked in his boots, the straps hanging loose. He generally sat by himself in one corner of the cramped smoking-room, and seldom took part in the conversation. The Bum Actor and he had exchanged confidences the night before, and the Texan therefore felt justified in answering in his friend's stead.