Next day I was glad to see that it was rainy. There would be no demand for ship chairs that day. I felt that real sunshiny weather would certainly unearth, or unchair, my stowaway. I met Cupples on deck, and we walked a few rounds together.
At last, Cupples, who had been telling me some stories of court trial in San Francisco, said, "Let's sit down and wrap up. This deck's too wet to walk on."
"All the seats are damp," I said.
"I'll get out my steamer chair. Steward," he cried to the deck steward, who was shoving a mop back and forth, "get me my chair. There's a tag on it, 'Berth 96.'"
"No, no," I cried hastily; "let's go into the cabin. It's raining."
"Only a drizzle. Won't hurt you at sea, you know."
By this time the deck steward was hauling down chairs trying to find No. 96, which I felt sure would be near the bottom. I could not control my anxiety as the steward got nearer and nearer the tarpaulin. At last I cried:
"Steward, never mind that chair; take the first two that come handy."
Cupples looked astonished, and, as we sat down, I said:
