ter we dock. I can't say just how he manages it, but he does.
The skipper may know of this custom, and there may be some reason
why he permits it. It's not my business to see anything. The
Chief Steward is a powerful man on an English vessel. If he has
anything against me, sooner or later he can lose my berth for me.
There you have the facts."

"Have I your permission to go to the Chief Steward?" Dr. Trueman
asked.

"Certainly not. But you can go without my knowledge. He's an ugly
man to cross, and he can make it uncomfortable for you and your
patients."

"Well, we'll say no more about it. I appreciate your telling me,
and I will see that you don't get mixed up in this. Will you go
down with me to look at that new meningitis case?"

Claude waited impatiently in his stateroom for the doctor's
return. He didn't see why the Chief Steward shouldn't be exposed
and dealt with like any other grafter. He had hated the man ever
since he heard him berating the old bath steward one morning.
Hawkins had made no attempt to defend himself, but stood like a
dog that has been terribly beaten, trembling all over, saying
"Yes, sir. Yes, sir," while his chief gave him a cold cursing in
a low, snarling voice. Claude had never heard a man or even an
animal addressed with such contempt. The Steward had a cruel
face,--white as cheese, with limp, moist hair combed back from a
high forehead,--the peculiarly oily hair that seems to grow only
on the heads of stewards and waiters. His eyes were exactly the
shape of almonds, but the lids were so swollen that the dull
pupil was visible only through a narrow slit. A long, pale
moustache hung like a fringe over his loose lips.

When Dr. Trueman came back from the hospital, he declared he was
now ready to call on Mr. Micks. "He's a nasty looking customer,
but he can't do anything to me."

They went to the Chief Steward's cabin and knocked.

"What's wanted?" called a threatening voice.

The doctor made a grimace to his companion and walked in. The
Steward was sitting at a big desk, covered with account books. He
turned in his chair. "I beg your pardon," he said coldly, "I do
not see any one here. I will be--"

The doctor held up his hand quickly. "That's all right, Steward.
I'm sorry to intrude, but I've something I must say to you in
private. I'll not detain you long." If he had hesitated for a
moment, Claude believed the Steward would have thrown him out,
but he went on rapidly. "This is