The Captain remained silent for some time after this, surrounding himself with a dense cloud of smoke and regarding me as attentively as if I had been some rare and curious work of art. At length he removed his pipe from his mouth and, still regarding me fixedly, said: “How should you like to come with me this trip?” The question staggered me for a moment, but recovering myself I asked: “Do you mean to Africa?” “Yes,” said the Captain. “There is nothing,” I replied eagerly, “that I should like better, but I don’t see what use I should be on board. I’m no seaman, and you don’t want clerks on board ship.” “Well, the fact is we do in this trade,” said Captain Bithery. “You see, this isn’t just a vessel with a cargo consigned to a merchant at a given port. This is a floating shop. The cargo is our own, and we sell it where we can, and how we can, mostly to small native traders, and we trade and swap and chaffer for the produce with which we fill up for the homeward trip. That’s where you would come in. Most of the actual trading was managed last trip by our steward, who was practically the purser; but he got typhoid, so we had to leave him at Hamburg, and although we are taking on a new steward here, he will only be a sort of cook and cabin steward--we ship a black cook on the Coast--and he doesn’t know anything about the trade. Now, I’ve taken a bit of a fancy to you, and I think you and I could get on together pretty comfortably, so if you like to ship with me to help me keep the books and work the trade, I’ve got a spare berth that you can have, and I’ll pay you eight pounds a month and a commission on any profits you make; and you shall be at liberty to leave the brig at any time if anything should turn up that would suit you better.” This was unquestionably a very handsome proposal, and so much in excess of any expectations I had formed that, without pausing to give the matter any further consideration, I accepted the Captain’s offer with many expressions of gratitude and delight. “Very well, then,” said the skipper, pushing the bottle across to my side of the table, “that’s settled. You come with us this jaunt and, as you must have some title on the articles, we’ll call you the purser, although that’s only what you’d call an honorary title, you understand. So here’s a health to the new purser,” and as I mixed a fresh glass with a trembling hand, Captain Bithery emptied his tumbler at a draught and slapped it down on the table with a flourish. Thus was the curtain rung down on the first act of my life’s little drama. A few words spoken, like a magic incantation, had changed my identity, and when I scrambled up the ladder on to the quay as the harbour clock was striking twelve, I barked the shins, not of Mr. Englefield of Jobson’s Bank, but of the purser of the _Lady Jane_. CHAPTER II. IN WHICH I SET OUT FOR AFRICA.