But beyond being glorious the swim was uneventful. On the right hand he
passed the many-lighted _Lancaster_, on the left hand the English
tramp, and ere long the _Annie Mine_ loomed large above him. He
grasped the hanging rope-ladder and drew himself noiselessly on deck.
There was no one in sight. He saw a light in the galley, and knew that
the captain's son, who kept the lonely anchor-watch, was making coffee.
Alf went forward to the forecastle. The men were snoring in their bunks,
and in that confined space the heat seemed to him insufferable. So he
put on a thin cotton shirt and a pair of dungaree trousers, tucked
blanket and pillow under his arm, and went up on deck and out on the
fore-castle-head.

Hardly had he begun to doze when he was roused by a boat coming
alongside and hailing the anchor-watch. It was the police-boat, and to
Alf it was given to enjoy the excited conversation that ensued. Yes, the
captain's son recognized the clothes. They belonged to Alf Davis, one of
the seamen. What had happened? No; Alf Davis had not come aboard. He
was ashore. He was not ashore? Then he must be drowned. Here both the
lieutenant and the captain's son talked at the same time, and Alf could
make out nothing. Then he heard them come forward and rouse out the
crew. The crew grumbled sleepily and said that Alf Davis was not in the
forecastle; whereupon the captain's son waxed indignant at the Yokohama
police and their ways, and the lieutenant quoted rules and regulations
in despairing accents.

Alf rose up from the forecastle-head and extended his hand, saying:

"I guess I'll take those clothes. Thank you for bringing them aboard so
promptly."