“What d’you take me for?” snapped Barnes, bustling about the galley. “Do I look like a walkin’ encyclopedia? I’m too busy to fiddle about with kids, anyway.” The boy did not answer but went on steadily with his work. Barnes continued to bustle, making perhaps a trifle more noise than was absolutely necessary with his pans, and glancing occasionally in the direction of his youthful assistant. At last he coughed awkwardly. “What’s worryin’ you, Dave?” he asked, puffing out his red cheeks. He liked the boy more than he was aware of, and took a fatherly pride in giving him advice. “Oh, only this, I’ve decided to leave the ship when we get to Auckland.” Barnes stared and blinked his queer-looking eyes. “Pity to do that,” he said. “By rights you ought to take the ship with you. Isn’t the steam heat to your satisfaction, or is it ’cos you haven’t got a private bath-room?” Dave knew Barnes well enough by now to ignore his sarcasm. “I’ll be real sorry to go and leave you, Mr. Barnes,” the lad went on, “but Mr. Quick has never forgotten me upsetting that soup over his legs, and he’s got it in for me.” “I know,” the cook said. “That’s one of his playful little habits. It’s the vinegar in him. But don’t forget, sonny, you might go further an’ fare worse.” “Maybe,” Dave agreed ruefully, “but if I have my way, I’ll try to be under a mate whose legs I haven’t upset hot soup over. Here is what I want to know, though. This boat goes on to Australian ports and the crew are paid off at Brisbane, aren’t they?” “If we ever get there.” “Well, how can I get my pay at Auckland?” “You want some new clothes, don’t you?” Barnes said. “There’s nothing in the slop-chest for kids. I’ll put in a word for you, and they’ll advance you as much money as you’ve earned up to the time we hit New Zealand.” This relieved Dave’s mind considerably, because all the cash he possessed was one dime, one nickel and four cents; and though he had sufficient confidence to leave the ship at Auckland and find another berth, he very naturally disliked the notion of finding himself in a strange land, many thousands of miles from Aunt Martha’s flapjacks, with a large appetite and only nineteen cents in his pocket. Realizing that the more he knew about his new profession the more easily he would be likely to obtain another ship in New Zealand, Dave learnt all he could during the next few weeks, and here he found a valuable tutor in Hawke. The sailor spent many hours of his watch below teaching the boy some of the simpler arts of his craft, including splicing and the tying of those baffling knots which form such an important part of a nautical education. Hawke would also have pressed some of his possessions on Dave as a mark of gratitude for what the boy had done when he was in the water, but these Dave firmly refused, accepting only Hawke’s clasp knife as a souvenir.