Glasgow ship whose master had died in Saigon.

"I sent word of it to the officers' quarters in the Sailors' Home," he
continued, while the limp in his gait seemed to grow more accentuated
with the increasing irritation of his voice. "Place's full of them.
Twice as many men as there are berths going in the local trade. All
hungry for an easy job. Twice as many--and--What d'you think,
Whalley? . . ."

He stopped short; his hands clenched and thrust deeply downwards, seemed
ready to burst the pockets of his jacket. A slight sigh escaped Captain
Whalley.

"Hey? You would think they would be falling over each other. Not a bit
of it. Frightened to go home. Nice and warm out here to lie about a
veranda waiting for a job. I sit and wait in my office. Nobody. What
did they suppose? That I was going to sit there like a dummy with the
Consul-General's cable before me? Not likely. So I looked up a list of
them I keep by me and sent word for Hamilton--the worst loafer of them
all--and just made him go. Threatened to instruct the steward of the
Sailors' Home to have him turned out neck and crop. He did not think
the berth was good enough--if--you--please. 'I've your little records by
me,' said I. 'You came ashore here eighteen months ago, and you haven't
done six months' work since. You are in debt for your board now at the
Home, and I suppose you reckon the Marine Office will pay in the end.
Eh? So it shall; but if you don't take this chance, away you go to
England, assisted passage, by the first homeward steamer that comes
along. You are no better than a pauper. We don't want any white paupers
here.' I scared him. But look at the trouble all this gave me."