“Oh--yourn't a parlee voo, then!” “No, I'm an Englishman.” “Indeed. Then you'll excuse me, but what in the name of glory are you doing here?” Christian sat up and looked at his muddy shoes with some interest. “Well, the truth is that I am bolting. I want to get across to England. I saw where you hailed from by your rig, and clambered on board last night. It seemed to me that when an Englishman is in a hole he cannot do better than go to a fellow-countryman for help.” Captain Lebrun made a mighty effort to force a passage through his pipe, and was rewarded by a very high-pitched squeak. “Ay!” he said doubtfully. “But what sort of hole is it? Nothing dirty, I'm hopin'. Who are yer? Why are ye runnin' away, and who are ye runnin' from?” Though a trifle blunt the sailor's manner was not unfriendly, and Christian laughed before replying. “Well,” he said, “to tell you the whole story would take a long time. You remember perhaps there was a row, about two months ago, respecting some English rifles found in Paris?” “Of course I remember that; we had a lot o' trouble with the Customs just then. The thing was ferreted out by a young newspaper fellow!” Christian rubbed his hands slowly together. He was terribly anxious to hear the sequel. “I am that newspaper fellow,” he said, with a quick smile. Captain Lebrun slowly stood up. He contemplated his pipe thoughtfully, then laying it upon the table he turned solemnly towards Christian, and held out a broad brown hand which was covered with scales in lieu of skin. “Shake hands, mister?” he said. Christian obliged him. “And now,” he said quickly, “I want to know what has happened since--since I left England. Has there been a great row? Has ... has anybody wondered where I was?” The old sailor may have had his suspicions. He may have guessed that Christian Vellacott had not left England at the dictates of his own free will, for he looked at him very kindly with his liquid blue eyes, and replied slowly:-- “I couldn't say that _nobody_ hasn't been wonderin' where ye was, but--but there's been nothing in the papers!” “That is all right! And now will you give me a passage, Captain?” “Course I will! We sail about eleven this morning. I'm loaded and cleared out. But I should like you to have a change o' clothes. Can't bear to see ye in them black things. It makes me feel as if I was talkin' to a priest.” “I should like nothing better,” replied Christian, as he rose and contemplated his own person reflectively. “Come into my state-room then. I've got a few things of my own, and a bit of a slop-chest: jerseys and things as I sell to the men.”