the _Lizzie_ put to sea again. Not one of these escaped their
observation.

"You seem to keep much the same crew right along, Hardy," Standing said
pleasantly. "I suppose they like shipping with a good skipper. I seem to
recognise most of their faces."

"Oh, yes. They're mostly the same boys," Hardy agreed, obviously
appreciating the compliment. "But I guess I lost four boys this trip.
They skipped half an hour before putting to sea. It happens that way now
and then, if they're only soused enough when they get aboard. They're a
crazy lot with rye under their belts. I just had to replace 'em with
some dockside loafers, or lie alongside another day."

Standing nodded. A man was moving down the gangway bearing a large,
grey, official-looking sack on his shoulders. He was a slight, dark man
with a curiously foreign cast about his features.

"The mail?" he enquired. And a curious sharpness flavoured his demand.
Then he added, with studied indifference. "One of your--dockside
loafers?"

Captain Hardy laughed. He continued to laugh as he watched the
unhandiness of the man staggering down the gangway under his burden.

"Yep. The mail," he said. "And I'd hate to set that feller to work on a
seaman's job. He's about as unhandy as a doped Chinaman. I'd say Masters
is playing safe keeping him from messing up the running gear while we're
discharging. Say, get a look at it."