to me to see men who haven't shaved in a fortnight, and others who never change shirts.”
“Very well, sir,” said Mr. Mott, and departed.
Presently he reappeared with the stowaway in charge.
Captain Trigger beheld a well set-up young man of medium height, with freshly shaven chin and jaws, carefully brushed hair, spotless white shirt and collar, and,—revealed in a quick glance,—recently scrubbed hands. His brown Norfolk jacket was open, and he carried a brand new, though somewhat shapeless pan-ama hat in his hand. Evidently he had ceased fanning himself with it at the moment of entering the captain's presence. The keen, good-looking face was warm and moist as the result of a most violent soaping. He wore corduroy riding-breeches, cavalry boots that betrayed their age in spite of a late polishing at the hands of an energetic and carefully directed bootblack, and a broad leather belt from which only half an eye was required to see that a holster had been detached with a becoming regard for neatness. His hair was thick and sun-bleached; his eyes, dark and unafraid, met the stern gaze of the captain with directness and respect; his lips and chin were firm in repose, but they might easily be the opposite if relaxed; his skin was so tanned and wind-bitten that the whites of his eyes were startlingly defined and vivid. He was not a tall man,—indeed, one would have been justified in suspecting him of being taller than he really was because of the more or less deceiving erectness with which he carried himself. As a matter of fact, he was not more than five feet ten or ten and a half.
Captain Trigger eyed him narrowly for a moment.
“What is your name?”
“A. A. Percival, sir.”
“Your full name, young man. No initials.”
The stowaway seemed to add an inch to his height before replying.
“Algernon Adonis Percival, sir,” he said, a very clear note of defiance in his voice.
The Captain looked at the First Officer, and the First Officer, after a brief stare at the speaker, looked at the Captain.
“It's his right name, you can bet, sir,” said Mr. Mott, with conviction. “Nobody would voluntarily give himself a name like that.”
“You never can tell about these Americans, Mr. Mott,” said the Captain warily. “They've got what they call a keen sense of humour, you know.”
Mr. Percival smiled. His teeth were very white and even.
“I am a first and only child,” he explained. “That ought to account for it, sir,” he went on, a trifle defensively.
Captain Trigger did not smile. Mr. Mott, however, looked distinctly sympathetic.
“You say you are an American,—a citizen of the United States?” demanded the former.
“Yes, sir. My home is in Baltimore.”
“Baltimore?” repeated Mr. Mott quickly. “That's where Mr. Gray hails from, sir,” he added, as a sort of apology to the Captain for the exclamation.
The Captain's gaze settled on the stowaway's spotless white shirt and collar. Then he nodded his head slowly.
“Mr. Gray is the Chief Engineer,” he explained, with mock courtesy.
“Yes, sir,—I know,” responded Percival. “He comes of one of the oldest and most highly connected families in Baltimore. He informs me that his father—”
“Never mind!” snapped the Captain. “We need not discuss Mr. Gray's antecedents. How old are you?”
“Thirty last Friday, sir.”
“Married?”
“No, sir.”
“Parents living?”
“No, sir.”
“And now, what the devil do you mean by sneaking aboard this ship and hiding yourself in the—by the way, Mr. Mott, where was he hiding?”
Mr. Mott: “It doesn't seem to be quite clear as yet, sir.”
Captain Trigger: “What's that?”
Mr. Mott: “I say, it isn't quite clear. We have only his word for it. You see, he wasn't discovered until he accosted Mr. Shannon on the bridge and asked—”
Captain Trigger: “On the bridge, Mr. Mott?”
Mr. Mott: “That is to say, sir, Mr. Shannon was on the bridge and he was below on the promenade deck. He asked Mr. Shannon if he was the Captain of the boat.”
Captain Trigger: “He did, eh? Well?”
Mr. Mott: “He was informed that you were at breakfast, sir,—no one suspecting him of being a stowaway, of course,—and then, it appears, he started out to look for you. That's how he fell in with the Chief Engineer. Mr. Gray informs me that he applied for work, admitting that he was aboard without leave, or passage, or funds, or anything else, it would seem. But, as for where he lay in hiding, there hasn't been anything definite arrived at as yet, sir. He seems to have been hiding in a rather wide-spread sort of way.”
Mr. Percival, amiably: “Permit me to explain, Captain Trigger. You see, I have been obliged to change staterooms three times. Naturally, that might be expected to create some little confusion in my mind. I began in the second cabin. Much to my surprise and chagrin I found, too late, that the stateroom I had chosen,—at random, I may say,—was merely in the state of being prepared for a lady and gentleman who had asked to be transferred from a less desirable one. I had some difficulty in getting out of it without attracting attention. I don't know what I should have done if the steward hadn't informed them that he could not move their steamer-trunk until morning. There wouldn't have been room for both of us under the berth, sir. If the gentleman had been alone I shouldn't have minded in the least remaining, under his berth, but he—”
Captain Trigger: “How did you happen to get into that room, young man? The doors are never unlocked when the rooms are unoccupied.”
Mr. Percival: “You are mistaken, sir. I found at least three stateroom doors unlocked that night, and my search was by no means extensive.”
Captain Trigger: “This is most extraordinary, Mr. Mott,—if true.”
Mr. Mott: “It shall be looked into, sir.”
Captain Trigger: “Go on, young man.”
Mr. Percival: “I tried another room in the second cabin, but had to abandon it also. It had no regular occupant,—it was Number 221 remember,—but along about midnight two men opened the door with a key and came in. They were stewards. I gathered that they were getting the room ready for someone else, so when they departed,—very quietly, sir,—I sneaked out and decided to try for accommodations in the first cabin. I—”
Mr. Mott: “Did you say stewards?”
Mr. Percival: “That's what I took them to be.”
Captain Trigger: “You are either lying, young man, or plumb crazy.”
