“You are the man Mr. McWhirter has been looking after, aren’t you?” “Yes.” I pulled off my cap, and, recollecting myself—“Yes, miss.” “You are not a sailor?” “I have had some experience—and I am willing.” “You have been ill, haven’t you?” “Yes—miss.” “Could you polish brass, and things like that?” “I could try. My arms are strong enough. It is only when I walk—” But she did not let me finish. She left the rail abruptly, and disappeared down the companionway into the after house. I waited uncertainly. The captain saw me still loitering, and scowled. A procession of men with trunks jostled me; a colored man, evidently a butler, ordered me out of his way while he carried down into the cabin, with almost reverent care, a basket of wine. When the girl returned, she came to me, and stood for a moment, looking me over with cool, appraising eyes. I had been right about her appearance: she was charming—or no, hardly charming. She was too aloof for that. But she was beautiful, an Irish type, with blue-gray eyes and almost black hair. The tilt of her head was haughty. Later I came to know that her hauteur was indifference: but at first I was frankly afraid of her, afraid of her cool, mocking eyes and the upward thrust of her chin. “My brother-in-law is not here,” she said after a moment, “but my sister is below in the cabin. She will speak to the captain about you. Where are your things?” I glanced toward the hospital, where my few worldly possessions, including my dress clothes, my amputating set, and such of my books as I had not been able to sell, were awaiting disposition. “Very near, miss,” I said. “Better bring them at once; we are sailing in the morning.” She turned away as if to avoid my thanks, but stopped and came back. “We are taking you as a sort of extra man,” she explained. “You will work with the crew, but it is possible that we will need you—do you know anything about butler’s work?” I hesitated. If I said yes, and then failed— “I could try.” “I thought, from your appearance, perhaps you had done something of the sort.” Oh, shades of my medical forebears, who had bequeathed me, along with the library, what I had hoped was a professional manner! “The butler is a poor sailor. If he fails us, you will take his place.” She gave a curt little nod of dismissal, and I went down the gangplank and along the wharf. I had secured what I went for; my summer was provided for, and I was still seven dollars to the good. I was exultant, but with my exultation was mixed a curious anger at McWhirter, that he had advised me not to shave that morning.