Steadying himself by one of the quarter stanchions, he waved his right hand oratorically towards the sinking coast.

“Look at it, sir.  One of the finest countries that ever came from the hand of the Creator; a land overflowing with milk and honey; containing, sir, in that one mountain range, the products of the three zones—­and yet the abode of the oppressed and down-trodden; the land of faction, superstition, tyranny, and political revolution.”

“That’s all very well,” said Banks irritably, “but Mazatlan is a well-known commercial port, and has English and American correspondents.  There’s a branch of that Boston firm—­Potter, Potts & Potter—­there.  The new line of steamers is going to stop there regularly.”

Senor Perkins’ soft black eyes fell for an instant, as if accidentally, on the third mate, but the next moment he laughed, and, throwing back his head, inhaled, with evident relish, a long breath of the sharp, salt air.

“Ah!” he said enthusiastically, “That’s better than all the business you can pick up along a malarious coast.  Open your mouth and try to take in the free breath of the glorious North Pacific.  Ah! isn’t it glorious?”

“Where’s the captain?” said Banks, with despairing irritation.  “I want to see him.”

“The captain,” said Senor Perkins, with a bland, forgiving smile and a slight lowering of his voice, “is, I fear, suffering from an accident of hospitality, and keeps his state-room.  The captain is a good fellow,” continued Perkins, with gentle enthusiasm; “a good sailor and careful navigator, and exceedingly attentive to his passengers.  I shall certainly propose getting up some testimonial for him.”

“But if he’s shut up in his state-room, who’s giving the orders?” began Banks angrily.

Senor Perkins put up a small, well-kept hand deprecatingly.

“Really, my dear boy, I suppose the captain cannot be omnipresent.  Some discretion must be left to the other officers.  They probably know his ideas and what is to be done better than we do.  You business men trouble yourselves too much about these things.  You should take them more philosophically.  For my part I always confide myself trustingly to these people.  I enter a ship or railroad car with perfect faith.  I say to myself, ’This captain, or this conductor, is a responsible man, selected with a view to my safety and comfort; he understands how to procure that safety and that comfort better than I do.  He worries himself; he spends hours and nights of vigil to look after me and carry me to my destination.  Why should I worry myself, who can only assist him by passive obedience?  Why’—­” But here he was interrupted by a headlong plunge of the Excelsior, a feminine shriek that was half a laugh, the rapid patter of small feet and sweep of flying skirts down the slanting deck, and the sudden and violent contact of a pretty figure.

The next moment he had forgotten his philosophy, and his companion his business.  Both flew to the assistance of the fair intruder, who, albeit the least injured of the trio, clung breathlessly to the bulwarks.