"Looks very respectable."
"Certainly," says the shipping-master quite calm and staring all the time
at me. "His name's Powell."
"Oh, I see!" says the skipper as if struck all of a heap. "But is he
ready to join at once?"
"I had a sort of vision of my lodgings--in the North of London, too,
beyond Dalston, away to the devil--and all my gear scattered about, and
my empty sea-chest somewhere in an outhouse the good people I was staying
with had at the end of their sooty strip of garden. I heard the Shipping
Master say in the coolest sort of way:
"He'll sleep on board to-night."
"He had better," says the Captain of the _Ferndale_ very businesslike, as
if the whole thing were settled. I can't say I was dumb for joy as you
may suppose. It wasn't exactly that. I was more by way of being out of
breath with the quickness of it. It didn't seem possible that this was
happening to me. But the skipper, after he had talked for a while with
Mr. Powell, too low for me to hear became visibly perplexed.
"I suppose he had heard I was freshly passed and without experience as an
officer, because he turned about and looked me over as if I had been
exposed for sale.
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