two companionways and forward in the ship. In a gloomy passageway, lighted by a solitary low-power bulb. Stubby Gates banged on a door, turned a key, and opened it. Reaching inside he switched on a light.
'Show a leg, Henri,' he announced.' 'Ere's a couple of gents to see yer.' He stood back, beckoning Dan.
Moving to the doorway Dan saw a small figure sitting up sleepily in a metal bunk. Then he looked at the scene behind.
My God! he thought. Does a man live here?
It was a metal box - a cube approximately six feet square. Long ago the walls had been painted a drab ochre but now much of the paint had gone, with rust replacing it. Both paint and rust were covered with a film of moisture, disturbed only where heavier water droplets coursed downward. Occupying the length of one wall and most of the width inside was the single metal bunk. Above it was a small shelf about a foot long and six inches wide. Below the bunk was an iron pail. And that was all.
There was no window or porthole, only a vent of sorts near the top of one wall.
And the air was foul.
Henri Duval rubbed his eyes and peered at the group outside. Dan Orliffe was surprised how young the stowaway seemed. He had a round, not unpleasing, face, well-proportioned features, and dark deep-set eyes. He was wearing a singlet, a flannel shirt, unbuttoned, and rough denim pants. Beneath the clothing his body seemed sturdy.
'Bon soir. Monsieur Duval,' Dan said. 'Excusez-nous de troubler votre sommeil, mais nous venons de la presse et nous savons que vous avez une histoire interessante a nous raconter
The stowaway shook his head slowly.
'It won't do no good talking French,' Stubby Gates interjected. 'Henri don't understand it. Seems like 'e got 'is languages mixed up when 'e was a nipper. Best try 'im in English, but take it slow.'
'All right.' Turning back to the stowaway, Dan said carefully, 'I am from the Vancouver Post. A newspaper. We would like to know about you. Do you understand?'
There was a pause. Dan tried again. 'I want to talk with you. Then I will write about you.'
'Why you write?' The words - the first Duval had spoken -held a mixture of surprise and suspicion.
Dan said patiently, 'Perhaps I can help you. You want to get off this ship?'
'You help me leave ship? Get job? Live Canada?' The words were mouthed awkwardly, but with unmistakable eagerness.
Dan shook his head. 'No, I can't do that. But many people will read what I write. Perhaps someone who will read can help you.'
Stubby Gates put in: 'Wotcher got ter lose, Henri? It can't do no 'arm; might even do yer a bit o' good.'
Henri Duval appeared to be considering.
Watching him closely, it occurred to Dan that whatever his background, the young stowaway possessed an instinctive, unobtrusive dignity.
Now he nodded. 'Hokay,' he said simply.
'Tell you what, Henri,' Stubby Gates said. 'YOU go an' wash up, an' me an' these people'!! go up an' wait for you in the galley.'
The young man nodded and eased himself from the bunk.
As they moved away, De Vere said softly, 'Poor little bastard.'
'Is he always locked in?' Dan asked.
'Just at night when we're in port,' Stubby Gates said. 'Captain's orders.'
'Why?'
'It's to make sure 'e don't take orf. The captain's responsible for 'im, see?' The seaman paused at the top of a companionway. 'It ain't as bad for 'im, 'ere, though, as in the States. When we was in Frisco they 'ad 'im 'andcuffed to 'is bunk.'
They reached the galley and went inside.
'How about a cuppa tea?' Stubby Gates asked.
'All right,' Dan said. 'Thanks.'
The seaman produced three mugs and crossed to an enamel teapot which was standing on a hot plate. He poured a strong dark brew to which milk had already been added. Putting the mugs on the galley table he motioned the others to sit down.
'I expect, being on a ship like this,' Dan said, 'you get to meet all kinds of people.'
'You said it, matey.' The seaman grinned. 'All shapes 'n' colours 'n' sizes. Some queer ones, too.' He
'Show a leg, Henri,' he announced.' 'Ere's a couple of gents to see yer.' He stood back, beckoning Dan.
Moving to the doorway Dan saw a small figure sitting up sleepily in a metal bunk. Then he looked at the scene behind.
My God! he thought. Does a man live here?
It was a metal box - a cube approximately six feet square. Long ago the walls had been painted a drab ochre but now much of the paint had gone, with rust replacing it. Both paint and rust were covered with a film of moisture, disturbed only where heavier water droplets coursed downward. Occupying the length of one wall and most of the width inside was the single metal bunk. Above it was a small shelf about a foot long and six inches wide. Below the bunk was an iron pail. And that was all.
There was no window or porthole, only a vent of sorts near the top of one wall.
And the air was foul.
Henri Duval rubbed his eyes and peered at the group outside. Dan Orliffe was surprised how young the stowaway seemed. He had a round, not unpleasing, face, well-proportioned features, and dark deep-set eyes. He was wearing a singlet, a flannel shirt, unbuttoned, and rough denim pants. Beneath the clothing his body seemed sturdy.
'Bon soir. Monsieur Duval,' Dan said. 'Excusez-nous de troubler votre sommeil, mais nous venons de la presse et nous savons que vous avez une histoire interessante a nous raconter
The stowaway shook his head slowly.
'It won't do no good talking French,' Stubby Gates interjected. 'Henri don't understand it. Seems like 'e got 'is languages mixed up when 'e was a nipper. Best try 'im in English, but take it slow.'
'All right.' Turning back to the stowaway, Dan said carefully, 'I am from the Vancouver Post. A newspaper. We would like to know about you. Do you understand?'
There was a pause. Dan tried again. 'I want to talk with you. Then I will write about you.'
'Why you write?' The words - the first Duval had spoken -held a mixture of surprise and suspicion.
Dan said patiently, 'Perhaps I can help you. You want to get off this ship?'
'You help me leave ship? Get job? Live Canada?' The words were mouthed awkwardly, but with unmistakable eagerness.
Dan shook his head. 'No, I can't do that. But many people will read what I write. Perhaps someone who will read can help you.'
Stubby Gates put in: 'Wotcher got ter lose, Henri? It can't do no 'arm; might even do yer a bit o' good.'
Henri Duval appeared to be considering.
Watching him closely, it occurred to Dan that whatever his background, the young stowaway possessed an instinctive, unobtrusive dignity.
Now he nodded. 'Hokay,' he said simply.
'Tell you what, Henri,' Stubby Gates said. 'YOU go an' wash up, an' me an' these people'!! go up an' wait for you in the galley.'
The young man nodded and eased himself from the bunk.
As they moved away, De Vere said softly, 'Poor little bastard.'
'Is he always locked in?' Dan asked.
'Just at night when we're in port,' Stubby Gates said. 'Captain's orders.'
'Why?'
'It's to make sure 'e don't take orf. The captain's responsible for 'im, see?' The seaman paused at the top of a companionway. 'It ain't as bad for 'im, 'ere, though, as in the States. When we was in Frisco they 'ad 'im 'andcuffed to 'is bunk.'
They reached the galley and went inside.
'How about a cuppa tea?' Stubby Gates asked.
'All right,' Dan said. 'Thanks.'
The seaman produced three mugs and crossed to an enamel teapot which was standing on a hot plate. He poured a strong dark brew to which milk had already been added. Putting the mugs on the galley table he motioned the others to sit down.
'I expect, being on a ship like this,' Dan said, 'you get to meet all kinds of people.'
'You said it, matey.' The seaman grinned. 'All shapes 'n' colours 'n' sizes. Some queer ones, too.' He
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