It was on the voyage immediately following this incident that his father had died suddenly at sea, half way across the Indian Ocean on the passage home. John Sheldon had arrived in New York from the West Coast almost in company with the _Retriever_, brought in by the mate who had taken his place. The first news he heard was that his father had been buried at sea. The ship was owned in the family; it seemed natural, in view of this stroke of destiny, that he should have her as his first command. The officers left, he took possession of the cabin and the quarterdeck that had been his father’s province for so many years; and Wang continued his duties in the forward cabin as if nothing had happened. The Chinaman had nursed Captain Sheldon when he took to his bed, had found him dying the next morning, had heard his last words, and had laid out his body for burial. Six years had passed since then. John Sheldon was a dashing young shipmaster of twenty-seven; and now Wang was failing. No doubt about it. The dishes weren’t clean any longer; a greasy knife annoyed Captain Sheldon almost as much as an insult. Lately, he had begun to notice a heavy, musty smell as he passed by the pantry door. A dirty steward!—it wasn’t to be supported, not on his ship, at any rate. The Chinaman finished the brasses, gathered up his pan and rags, and started for the forward cabin. Captain Sheldon laid down his book again. "Steward, have you got a home?" "Oh, yes, Cappen. I got two piecee house, Hong Kong side" Wang paused in the doorway, turning half round and steadying himself as the ship lurched. His fingers left a smudge on the white paint. As if perceiving it, he wiped the place furtively with the corner of his cotton tunic, only spreading the smudge. Captain Sheldon, watching the manoeuvre, sniffed in disgust, and continued the inquiry. "Have you got a wife?" "She dead, seven, eight year" "Any children?" "Oh, I got some piecee children, maybe three, four" "For God’s sake, don’t you know how many children you’ve got?" "Yes, sir, Cappen. I got four piecee, all go ’way. Maybe some dead. I no hear" "Hm-m" The captain knit his brows ponderously, a habit he had acquired in the last few years, and fixed a severe glance on the old Chinaman. "Don’t you ever want to go home?" "Oh, no, Cappen. Why fo’ I go home? I b’long ship side" After waiting a moment in silence for further questions, Wang realized that the conversation was not to be concluded this time. He turned slowly and shuffled off through the forward cabin, head bent and eyes peering hard at the floor. Captain Sheldon did not see him stumble heavily against the corner of the settee.