The figure shook its head.

"Where did you come from?" he repeated, walking up, and laying his hand
on the other's shoulder.

Then the intruder spoke, but in a strange fashion and in strange words.
We leaned forward to listen, but, even when he repeated them, we could
make nothing of them.

"He's a furriner," said Roberts.

"Blest if I've ever 'eard the lingo afore," said Bill. "Does anybody
rekernize it?"

Nobody did, and the skipper, after another attempt, gave it up, and,
falling back upon the universal language of signs, pointed first to the
man and then to the sea. The other understood him, and, in a heavy,
slovenly fashion, portrayed a man drifting in an open boat, and clutching
and clambering up the side of a passing ship. As his meaning dawned upon
us, we rushed to the stern, and, leaning over, peered into the gloom, but
the night was dark, and we saw nothing.

"Well," said the skipper, turning to Bill, with a mighty yawn, "take him
below, and give him some grub, and the next time a gentleman calls on
you, don't make such a confounded row about it."

He went below, followed by the mate, and after some slight hesitation,
Roberts stepped up to the intruder, and signed to him to follow. He came
stolidly enough, leaving a trail of water on the deck, and, after