“Yes,” said Peter, modestly. “How did you know?” “I know the signs.” “Well,” said Peter, “you might speak to the mate. That ’s Mr. Baker in charge of that boat—chief mate.” How Peter could have told so certainly was beyond my comprehension; but he had good eyes. We stood silently until the boat came in. Then the man spoke to Mr. Baker, who received his application well enough. He looked the man over. “What have you sailed in?” “Almost everything, sir, from dhows to whalers, for the last ten years.” “Whalers? What vessels?” “Only one, the Apollo.” “Apollo, eh? How long were you in the Apollo? And when?” “The last year, sir.” Mr. Baker grunted. “Deserted, eh? We left her near Mauritius about a week ago, bound home.” The man hesitated. “Well, no, sir. She sailed without me.” “Drunk, eh? Going to let it go at that?” He hesitated again. “Well, the truth is, sir, I was n’t sorry. I ’m not ready to go home yet.” “Think you ’ll be ready to go home in a couple of years? Where do you hail from?” {235} “Near Boston.” Mr. Baker grunted again, and was silent for a little. Then he directed a piercing look at the man. “Where has the Apollo been in the last year?” “Over New Zealand way, Samoa and Kingsmill—South Seas.” “Know those waters?” “Very well, sir.” Mr. Baker had been standing beside the boat. Now he turned away. “All right. Wait here for me. I ’ll be back in half an hour. I ’ll take you aboard, and I have no doubt the captain will sign you. Any dunnage?” “No, sir. It ’s all on the Apollo but what I stand in.” Mr. Baker looked at Peter. “You want to go aboard, Peter?” “The sooner the better, sir. We ’ve seen all we want of the town.” “Liberty is n’t up, you know. Muss, eh? Better get in the boat if anybody comes.” Mr. Baker was back in half an hour, followed by porters with baskets of fresh provisions. Three or four more of our men had drifted down. When we were halfway to the ship Mr. Baker spoke. “You—what ’s your name?” “John Brown, sir,” answered the knife-thrower, with half a second’s hesitation. “John Brown, eh? We ’ve got one John Brown on the ship. Would n’t John Smith do you just as well?” The man smiled. “If you prefer it, sir, I ’ll make it do.” Mr. Brown was on deck when we came aboard, I just ahead of the man who was to call himself John Smith. Mr. Brown looked kindly at me; then I saw a curious expression pass across his face, and his eyes hardened. It passed in an instant, like a cat’s-paw over water, but I {236} could not help noting it. There was surprise in it, and no gratification. I remember that I was disappointed, for I had thought Mr. Brown above those sudden dislikes.