He simply said, "Thank you, sir," and I went forward. When I came back the tray had been swept clean and the teapot emptied. My stowaway was making for his den when I said, "How about to-morrow?"
He answered, "This'll do me for a couple of days."
"Nonsense. I'll have a square meal for you here in the corner of this wheelhouse, so that you can get at it without trouble. I'll leave it about this time to-morrow night."
"You won't tell anyone, anyone at all, sir?"
"No. At least, I'll think over the matter, and if I see a way out I'll let you know."
"God bless you, sir."
I turned the incident over in my mind a good deal that night, and I almost made a resolution to take Cupples into my confidence. Roger Cupples, a lawyer of San Francisco, sat next me at table, and with the freedom of wild Westerners we were already well acquainted, although only a few days out. Then I thought of putting a supposititious case to the captain—he was a thorough gentleman—and if he spoke generously about the supposititious case I would spring the real one on him. The stowaway had impressed me by his language as being a man worth doing something for.
