That night at dinner time a stranger appeared at the captain's table.
A dark, thick-browed man, in morning clothes of professional cut, was
shown by one of the saloon stewards to a seat which had hitherto been
vacant. Crawshay, whose place was nearly opposite, leaned across at
once with an air of interest.

"Good evening, Doctor," he said.

"Good evening, sir," was the somewhat gruff reply.

"Glad to see that you are able to come in and join us," Crawshay
continued, unabashed. "You are, I believe, the physician in attendance
on Mr. Phillips. I am very interested in illnesses. As a matter of
fact, I am a great invalid myself."

The doctor contented himself with a muttered monosyllable which was
not brimful of sympathy.

"This is a very remarkable expedition of yours," Crawshay went on. "I
am a man of very little sentiment myself--one place to me is very much
like another--so I do not understand this wild desire on the part of
an invalid to risk his life by undertaking such a journey. It is a
great feat, however. It shows what can be accomplished by a man of
determination, even when he is on the point of death." "Who said that
my patient was on the point of death?" the doctor demanded brusquely.

"It is common report," Crawshay assured him. "Besides, as you know,
the New York press got hold of the story before you started, and the
facts were in all the evening papers."