silently forward, with that exasperating
unconcern of any landsman's interest peculiar to marine officials. The
passenger turned impatiently to the third mate.
"But this ain't right, you know. It was understood that we were going
into Mazatlan. I've got business there."
"My orders, sir," said the mate curtly, turning away.
The practical passenger had been observant enough of sea-going rules to
recognize that this reason was final, and that it was equally futile to
demand an interview with the captain when that gentleman was not visibly
on duty. He turned angrily to the cabin again.
"You look disturbed, my dear Banks. I trust you haven't slept badly,"
said a very gentle voice from the quarter-rail near him; "or, perhaps,
the ship's going about has upset you. It's a little rougher on this
tack."
"That's just it," returned Banks sharply. "We HAVE gone about, and
we're not going into Mazatlan at all. It's scandalous! I'll speak to
the captain--I'll complain to the consignees--I've got business at
Mazatlan--I expect letters--I"--
"Business, my dear fellow?" continued the voice, in gentle protest.
"You'll have time for business when you get to San Francisco. And as for
letters--they'll follow you there soon enough. Come over here, my boy,
and say hail and farewell to the Mexican coast--to the land of Montezuma
and Pizarro. Come here and see the mountain range from which Balboa
feasted his eyes on the broad Pacific. Come!"
The speaker, though apparently more at his ease at sea, was in dress and
appearance fully as unnautical as Banks. As he leaned over the railing,
his white, close-fitting trousers and small patent-leather boots gave
him a jaunty, half-military air, which continued up to the second button
of his black frock-coat, and then so utterly changed its character
that it was doubtful if a greater contrast could be conceived than that
offered by the widely spread lapels of his coat, his low turned-down
collar, loosely knotted silk handkerchief, and the round, smooth-shaven,
gentle, pacific face above them. His straight long black hair, shining
as if from recent immersion, was tucked carefully behind his ears, and
hung in a heavy, even, semicircular fringe around the back of his neck
where his tall hat usually rested, as if to leave his forehead meekly
exposed to celestial criticism. When he had joined the ship at Callao,
his fellow-passengers, rashly trusting to the momentary suggestion of
his legs on th
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