preparations, and who had accompanied me to the wharf, had suggested
that I omit my morning shave. The result was, as I look back, a lean
and cadaverous six-foot youth, with the hospital pallor still on him,
his chin covered with a day's beard, his hair cropped short, and a
cannibalistic gleam in his eyes. I remember that my wrists, thin
and bony, annoyed me, and that the girl I had seen through the
opera-glasses came on board, and stood off, detached and indifferent,
but with her eyes on me, while the captain read my letter.

When he finished, he held it out to me.

"I've got my crew," he said curtly.

"There isn't--I suppose there's no chance of your needing another
hand?"

"No." He turned away, then glanced back at the letter I was still
holding, rather dazed. "You can leave your name and address with
the mate over there. If anything turns up he'll let you know."

My address! The hospital?

I folded the useless letter and thrust it into my pocket. The
captain had gone forward, and the girl with the cool eyes was leaning
against the rail, watching me.

"You are the man Mr. McWhirter has been looking after, aren't you?"

"Yes." I pulled off my cap, and, recollecting myself--"Yes, miss."