of the passengers, a Mr. Amyas, put a friendly hand on his shoulder.
"Coming in?"
Without hesitation now, Mark smiled up at the brown, wrinkled face with its piercingly black eyes.
"Waiting for someone, eh?"
"No." The boy's voice was as attractive as his slate-gray eyes that concentrated so eagerly on anything or anyone that attracted his attention. His rough shock of brown hair and equally rough brown tweeds made him look somewhat like a very intelligent, well-bred dog.
"I'm traveling alone," he confided.
"I've been ill and Captain Ross knows Dad and told him I'd be better for a sea-trip. I'm going to Java and back on this ship."
The gipsy-black eyes twinkled. "That's my program too! We'll keep each other company—eh? My name's Amyas. And you're?"
"Mark Herron, sir."
"All right, then. Now, let's plunge into the jungle and see what we can catch for a meal."
unknown meant."
The little man made for a table over on the port-side, one of the smaller tables where some member of the staff had al-
