bothered. He explained that his second mate had been working on board
all the morning. At one o'clock he went out to get a bit of dinner and
didn't turn up at two as he ought to have done. Instead there came a
messenger from the hospital with a note signed by a doctor. Collar bone
and one arm broken. Let himself be knocked down by a pair horse van
while crossing the road outside the dock gate, as if he had neither eyes
nor ears. And the ship ready to leave the dock at six o'clock to-morrow
morning!

"Mr. Powell dipped his pen and began to turn the leaves of the agreement
over. "We must then take his name off," he says in a kind of unconcerned
sing-song.

"What am I to do?" burst out the skipper. "This office closes at four
o'clock. I can't find a man in half an hour."

"This office closes at four," repeats Mr. Powell glancing up and down the
pages and touching up a letter here and there with perfect indifference.

"Even if I managed to lay hold some time to-day of a man ready to go at
such short notice I couldn't ship him regularly here--could I?"

"Mr. Powell was busy drawing his pen through the entries relating to that
unlucky second mate and making a note in the margin.

"You could sign him on yourself on board," says he without looking up.
"But I don't think you'll find easily an officer for such a pier-head
jump."

"Upon this the fine-looking skipper gave signs of distress. The ship