open-mouthed. At last, furious, he blurted out:--"What's this? Who said
'Wait'? What...."

But he saw a tall figure standing on the rail. It came down and pushed
through the crowd, marching with a heavy tread towards the light on
the quarterdeck. Then again the sonorous voice said with
insistence:--"Wait!" The lamplight lit up the man's body. He was tall.
His head was away up in the shadows of lifeboats that stood on skids
above the deck. The whites of his eyes and his teeth gleamed distinctly,
but the face was indistinguishable. His hands were big and seemed
gloved.

Mr. Baker advanced intrepidly. "Who are you? How dare you..." he began.

The boy, amazed like the rest, raised the light to the man's face. It
was black. A surprised hum--a faint hum that sounded like the suppressed
mutter of the word "Nigger"--ran along the deck and escaped out into the
night. The nigger seemed not to hear. He balanced himself where he stood
in a swagger that marked time. After a moment he said calmly:--"My name
is Wait--James Wait."

"Oh!" said Mr. Baker. Then, after a few seconds of smouldering silence,
his temper blazed out. "Ah! Your name is Wait. What of that? What do you
want? What do you mean, coming shouting here?"

The nigger was calm, cool, towering, superb. The men had approached and
stood behind him in a body. He overtopped the tallest by half a head.
He said: "I belong to the ship." He enunciated distinctly, with soft
precision. The deep, rolling tones of his voice filled the deck without
effort. He was naturally scornful, unaffectedly condescending, as if