"Policeman in a small boat alongside says the old man got into a row
with the Kru boy that rowed him ashore and the black scoundrel
skewered him. I'm going ashore to look after his body and order a tug
to kick us into our berth. I guess the old man didn't get time to
attend to the business that brought him ashore, poor fellow."

"Very well, Sir," Mr. Murphy replied, and murmured some commonplace
expression of regret. He was not particularly shocked for he had lost
shipmates in a hurry before now.

Matt Peasley proceeded to the beach, attended to the necessary details
incident to the skipper's untimely removal, was informed by the Harlow
& Benton Company, Limited, of the location of the berth he was to
discharge, ordered a tug for that afternoon, went to the cable office,
registered his cable address, sent a cablegram to the owners and
returned to the ship.

"Well, Mike," he announced to the second mate, "I guess I'm the
skipper; following the same line of deduction, I guess you're the
chief mate, so I'll move my dunnage into the old man's cabin and you
move into mine. I'll pick up a second mate in Cape Town before we
leave."

Mr. Murphy eyed his youthful superior with mild curiosity, not
untempered with amusement. "Thank you for the promotion, Captain
Matt," he replied. "However, if you'll excuse my apparent impudence
on the grounds that I'm about fifteen years older than you and have
been longer in the Blue Star employ, I'd like to make a suggestion."

"Fire away, Mike."