soul? Suddenly I came to a definite resolution. Captain Selover had descended to the pier. I approached him.
"You need a mate," said I.
He looked me over.
"Perhaps," he admitted. "Where's your man?"
"Right here," said I.
His eyes widened a little. Otherwise he showed no sign of surprise. I cursed my clothes.
Fortunately I had my master's certificate with me—I'd passed fresh-water on the Great Lakes—I always carry that sort of document on the chance that it may come handy. It chanced to have a couple of naval endorsements, results of the late war.
"Look here," I said before I gave it to him. "You don't believe in me. My clothes are too good. That's all right. They're all I have that are good. I'm broke. I came down here wondering whether I'd better throw myself in the drink."
"You look like a dude," he squeaked. "Where did you ever ship?"
I handed him my certificate. The endorsements from Admiral Keays and Captain Arnold impressed him. He stared at me again, and a gleam of cunning crept into his eyes.
"Nothing crooked about this?" he breathed softly.
I had the key to this side of his character. You remember I had overheard the night before his statement of his moral scruples. I said nothing, but looked knowing.
"What was it?" he murmured. "Plain desertion, or something worse?"
