ad clean, radiant faces; only one or two turned up dishevelled
and sad; the two-young Norwegians looked tidy, meek, and altogether of
a promising material for the kind ladies who patronise the Scandinavian
Home. Wamibo, still in his working clothes, dreamed, upright and burly
in the middle of the room, and, when Archie came in, woke up for a
smile. But the wide-awake clerk called out a name, and the paying-off
business began.

One by one they came up to the pay-table to get the wages of their
glorious and obscure toil. They swept the money with care into broad
palms, rammed it trustfully into trousers' pockets, or, turning their
backs on the table, reckoned with difficulty in the hollow of their
stiff hands.--"Money right? Sign the release. There--there," repeated
the clerk, impatiently. "How stupid those sailors are!" he thought.
Singleton came up, venerable--and uncertain as to daylight; brown
drops of tobacco juice hung in his white beard; his hands, that never
hesitated in the great light of the open sea, could hardly find the
small pile of gold in the profound darkness of the shore. "Can't write?"
said the clerk, shocked. "Make a mark, then." Singleton painfully
sketched in a heavy cross, blotted the page. "What a disgusting old
brute," muttered the clerk. Somebody opened the door for him, and the
patriarchal seaman passed through unsteadily, without as much as a
glance at any of us.

Archie displayed a pocket-book. He was chaffed. Belfast, who looked
wild, as though he had already luffed up through a public-house or two,
gave signs of emotion and wanted to speak to the Captain privately. The
master was surprised. They spoke through the wires, and we could hear
the Captain saying:--"I've given it up to the Board of Trade." "I should
've liked to get something of his," mumbled Belfast. "But you can't,
my man. It's given up, locked and sealed, to the Marine Office,"
expostulated the master; and Belfast stood back, with drooping mouth and
troubled eyes. In a pause of the business we heard the master and the
clerk talking. We caught: "James Wait--deceased--found no papers of any
kind--no relations--no trace--the Office must hold his wages then." Donkin
entered. He seemed out of breath, was grave, full of business. He went
straight to the desk, talked with animation to the clerk, who thought
him an intelligent man. They discussed the account, dropping h's against
one another as if for a wager--very friendly. Captain Al