“’Oo ’s this?” asked the Cockney, as he was called, smacking his lips over the wine and rolling Joe out upon the floor.  “Passenger?”

“No, no,” French Pete made haste to answer.  “Ze new sailorman.  Vaire good boy.”

“Good boy or not, he ’s got to keep his tongue atween his teeth,” growled the second newcomer, who had not yet spoken, glaring fiercely at Joe.

“I say,” queried the other man, “’ow does ’e whack up on the loot?  I ’ope as me and Bill ’ave a square deal.”

“Ze Dazzler she take one share—­what you call—­one third; den we split ze rest in five shares.  Five men, five shares.  Vaire good.”

French Pete insisted in excited gibberish that the Dazzler had the right to have three men in its crew, and appealed to ’Frisco Kid to bear him out.  But the latter left them to fight it over by themselves, and proceeded to make hot coffee.

It was all Greek to Joe, except he knew that he was in some way the cause of the quarrel.  In the end French Pete had his way, and the newcomers gave in after much grumbling.  After they had drunk their coffee, all hands went on deck.

“Just stay in the cockpit and keep out of their way,” ’Frisco Kid whispered to Joe.  “I ’ll teach you about the ropes and everything when we ain’t in a hurry.”

Joe’s heart went out to him in sudden gratitude, for the strange feeling came to him that of those on board, to ’Frisco Kid, and to ’Frisco Kid only, could he look for help in time of need.  Already a dislike for French Pete was growing up within him.  Why, he could not say; he just simply felt it.

A creaking of blocks for’ard, and the huge mainsail loomed above him in the night.  Bill cast off the bowline, the Cockney followed suit with the stern, ’Frisco Kid gave her the jib as French Pete jammed up the tiller, and the Dazzler caught the breeze, heeling over for mid-channel.  Joe heard talk of not putting up the side-lights, and of keeping a sharp lookout, though all he could comprehend was that some law of navigation was being violated.

The water-front lights of Oakland began to slip past.  Soon the stretches of docks and the shadowy ships began to be broken by dim sweeps of marshland, and Joe knew that they were heading out for San Francisco Bay.  The wind was blowing from the north in mild squalls, and the Dazzler cut noiselessly through the landlocked water.

“Where are we going?” Joe asked the Cockney, in an endeavor to be friendly and at the same time satisfy his curiosity.

“Oh, my pardner ’ere, Bill, we ‘re goin’ to take a cargo from ’is factory,” that worthy airily replied.

Joe thought he was rather a funny-looking individual to own a factory; but, conscious that even stranger things might be found in this new world he was entering, he said nothing.  He had already exposed himself to ’Frisco Kid in the matter of his pronunciation of “fo’c’sle,” and he had no desire further to advertise his ignorance.