open, and inside an astonishing sight met my gaze.
There stood my stowaway.
He was evidently admiring himself in the glass, and with a brush was touching up his face with dark pain there and there. When he put on a woe-begone look he was the stowaway; when he chuckled to himself he was Roger Cupples, Esq.
The moment the thing dawned on me I quietly withdrew and went up the forward companion way. Soon Cupples came cautiously up and, seeing the way clear, scudded along in the darkness and hid in the aft wheelhouse. I saw the whole thing now. It was a scheme to get me to make a fool of myself some fine day before the rest of the passengers and have a standing joke on me. I walked forward. The first officer was on duty.
"I have reason to believe," I said, "that there is a stowaway in the aft wheelhouse."
Quicker than it takes me to tell it a detachment of sailors were sent aft under the guidance of the third mate. I went through the saloon and smoking room, and said to the gentlemen who were playing cards and reading:
"There's a row upstairs of some kind."
We were all on deck before the crew had surrounded the wheelhouse. There was a rattle of
