ee pounds?'

'Oh, no. I have written to my father, telling him the agreement I have
made with you, and if I should not return he will pay you the money.
Here is his address.'

'Thank you, sir, very much,' the cook answered. 'And now, as it's a
quarter to six, you had better hurry off to the _Sparrow-hawk_. Light
the fire and put the kettle on it directly you get aboard. The chaps
will want some tea long before they have their breakfast.'

'I'll remember,' Charlie promised; 'good-bye.' And with his bundle of
belongings on his shoulder, he hurried off to where the _Sparrow-hawk_
lay.

'Where is the mate?' Charlie inquired of a boy who looked at him sharply
as he went aboard the _Sparrow-hawk_.

'For'ard,' the boy answered.

Charlie went for'ard, and seeing a man standing with his arms folded,
watching three men who were working hard, concluded rightly that he was
the mate, and handed him the cook's letter.

'Who is it from?' the mate asked.

'The cook, sir,' Charlie answered.

The mate tore open the envelope and glanced at the letter. 'He wrote it
with a toasting-fork, I should think,' the mate declared, after looking
at it for a few moments. 'He says he is ill. At any rate, he has not
turned up. So you're his substitute? Well, take your things below and
get into the galley sharp. I want a mug of tea as soon as possible.'

Charlie went down into the foc's'le--a small, dark, stifling place where
eight men slept. The thought of having to spend his nights in that
dirty, close den made him half-inclined to jump ashore before the boat
started. Quickly overcoming the thought, he set to work to discover
which was his bunk, and while he was searching for some sign that would
help him to settle the matter, a Chinaman came below. He was dressed in
ordinary North Sea fishermen's clothes, and his pigtail was wound
tightly round the top of his head. Charlie mistook his natural
expression for a friendly smile, and therefore smiled in return.

'Which is the cook's bunk?' he asked immediately, and the Chinaman
pointed it out to him.

The Chinaman watched Charlie as he stowed his things away and donned his
cook's apron. Then he exclaimed suddenly, 'You no sailor-man!'

Charlie looked at the Chinaman in surprise. 'How can you tell?' he
asked.

'Never mind,' the Chinaman answered, now smiling in reality; 'me no
tellee any one. Me likee you first chop.'

Charlie's knowledge of 'pidgin' English was slight, but he concluded