“All this dirt means more washing down of the decks, I suppose.  Beastly racket it makes.  Is there any earthly reason why it should always be done at dawn?”

“Most one-sidedly,” said the captain; “it gives the sailors a chance to see the sunrise.”

There was a short silence, then Percival asked: 

“What’s the name of that young South American who went ashore with your daughter?”

“South American?” repeated the captain.  “I pass.”

“The blatant youth who sits at your left.”

“Oh, you mean Vaughn.  He’s no South American.  He hails from Virginia.”

“Thought he said he was a Southerner.  May I trouble you for the mustard?”

“Did the Daughter of the Revolution go along?” asked the captain.

“Beg pardon?”

“Mrs. Weston.  She’s a D.A.R.  She has told me so five times; that’s how I know.”

“Really, why was she chosen to be the Daughter of the Regiment?”

“The Revolution, not the regiment.  You remember that little skirmish that took place in ’75?”

Percival considered this thrust beneath his notice.  His simmering antagonism for the captain was nearing the boiling-point.

“I say,” he said, “will you kindly arrange for a bit of air to enter this room?  It’s ghastly, perfectly ghastly.”

“Sure,” said the captain, dexterously mixing a salad of alligator pears.  “Ah Foo, open some of those ports and let in the coal-dust.  Have some of this tropical mess?”

“Thanks, no.  I’m not specially fit today.  Had a beastly night of it.  Fancy having to keep one’s umbrella up in the berth to keep the light from the passage out of one’s eyes!  I don’t believe such a thing could happen on a British steamer.  Can’t you manage to give me another state-room?”

“That’s the purser’s job; he’s the room-clerk,” said the captain.  “I’m only the skipper.”

Percival glanced quickly at the weather-beaten face, but found no guiding expression.

“I can’t say I found your purser over-civil,” he went on.  “He insists on putting another passenger in my state-room.  Nothing was said about it in San Francisco, nothing whatever.  I shall report the matter at my first opportunity.”

“I bet you’ve drawn that Chinese bigwig that’s booked from here,” said the captain, grinning.

Percival pushed back his plate.  A German or an American had appalled him, but a Chinaman!

“I say, this is a bit thick, you know.  What time does the next launch go ashore?” he demanded, with, a fierce determination to find the purser and demand satisfaction.

“About to start now,” said the captain, adding, with a twinkle:  “Better think twice about that Chinaman.  If he takes the upper berth, his queue’d come in mighty handy to hang your umbrella on.”

Percival dashed up the stairs.  He had been seeking an excuse for going ashore for the last four hours, and now he felt that he had one.  It was of the utmost importance, he assured himself, that he see the purser without further delay.