"Now," he said, "you'll do. We shall soon be off Birkenhead, when the officers of the customs will come on board. All you have to do is to loaf around here, and when we've landed our passengers, you and I will go ashore together, and I'll take you to a friend of mine, where you can unload your cargo." "All right," replied Tommy. "If anything should go wrong you won't squeal?" "No." "Promise me that, because if they do twig you, they'll ask you all sorts of questions, and it will do you no good to give me away. There are more in the thing than myself, and you'll have a present given you." "I promise," replied Tommy. He remained below, showing himself as little as possible, until the steamer was boarded by the custom house officers. It did not then occur to him that his friend, Wild Charley, was as heartless as he was full of scheming. Yet it was a fact that he had only made up his mind to befriend him because he thought he would be of great assistance in his smuggling venture, in which some of the steward's assistants were mixed up. The revenue men had been all over the ship, and Wild Charley had looked in upon Tommy, whispering that he guessed it was all right now. Tommy accordingly went into the saloon to see if he could not pick up a dollar by making himself of use to some of the passengers, who were getting their smaller articles of baggage together preparatory to quitting the vessel. The first party he encountered was Mr. and Mrs. Nathan D. Stocker, of Chicago. "Anything I can do, ma'am?" he asked. "Well, yes, take a hold of this valise and these wraps. But, gracious sakes! how you've grown," she replied. "Got a little fatter," said Tommy, coloring up. He was not aware that he presented the appearance of a prize side show boy, and had increased apparently at least one-third in size. "Why, bless me!" remarked Mr. Stocker, "the boy is positively bloated--swelled up like the frog in the fable. I never saw such a thing. Chicawgo growed fast after the fire, but, by thunder, he licks Chicawgo hollow!" "It's being confined and shut up on board ship," said Tommy. "You've been living high, bub." "Yes, sir. I guess that's got something to do with it." A man who was writing at a table in the saloon heard this conversation, and got up. Tommy had the valise in one hand, and the wraps were thrown over his arm. "Put those down," said the man. Mrs. Stocker looked at him. "Why should he? They are mine!" she exclaimed. "I am perfectly well aware of that fact, madam," replied the man, "and feel sorry to interfere with your arrangements in any way, but I am a custom house officer." "Indeed?" "I feel it my duty to examine this boy, because such an extraordinary growth as you hinted at does not seem natural." Tommy felt as if he would like to sink into his boots. If the floor had opened and allowed him to drop down into the hold or into the sea, it would have been a welcome relief.