pper teeth
in a malevolent grin.--"Is there any-think wrong with me, Mister Mate?"
it asked, with a flavour of insolence in the forced simplicity of its
tone. On both sides of the deck subdued titters were heard.--"That'll do.
Go over," growled Mr. Baker, fixing the new hand with steady blue eyes.
And Donkin vanished suddenly out of the light into the dark group
of mustered men, to be slapped on the back and to hear flattering
whispers:--"He ain't afeard, he'll give sport to 'em, see if he don't....
Reg'lar Punch and Judy show.... Did ye see the mate start at him?...
Well! Damme, if I ever!..." The last man had gone over, and there was
a moment of silence while the mate peered at his list.--"Sixteen,
seventeen," he muttered. "I am one hand short, bo'sen," he said aloud.
The big west-countryman at his elbow, swarthy and bearded like a
gigantic Spaniard, said in a rumbling bass:--"There's no one left
forward, sir. I had a look round. He ain't aboard, but he may, turn up
before daylight."--"Ay. He may or he may not," commented the mate, "can't
make out that last name. It's all a smudge.... That will do, men. Go
below."

The distinct and motionless group stirred, broke up, began to move
forward.

"Wait!" cried a deep, ringing voice.

All stood still. Mr. Baker, who had turned away yawning, spun round
open-mouthed. At last, furious, he blurted out:--"What's this? Who said
'Wait'? What...."

But he saw a tall figure standing on the rail. It came down and pushed
through the crowd, marching with a heavy tread towards the light on the
quarterdeck. Then again the sonorous voice said with insistence:--"Wait!"
The lamplight lit up the man's body. He was tall. His head was away
up in the shadows of lifeboats that stood on skids above the deck. The
whites of his eyes and his teeth gleamed distinctly, but the face was
indistinguishable. His hands were big and seemed gloved.

Mr. Baker advanced intrepidly. "Who are you? How dare you..." he began.

The boy, amazed like the rest, raised the light to the man's face. It
was black. A surprised hum--a faint hum that sounded like the suppressed
mutter of the word "Nigger"--ran along the deck and escaped out into the
night. The nigger seemed not to hear. He balanced himself where he stood
in a swagger that marked time. After a moment he said calmly:--"My name
is Wait--James Wait."

"Oh!" said Mr. Baker. Then, after a few seconds of smouldering silence,
his temper blazed out. "Ah! Your