Trego thrust before him, and Captain Riggs came out of the saloon.

"What's up now?" he demanded. "What's this?"

Harris waved his hand toward the paper, and Trego put it before Captain
Riggs.

"Read it," said Trego. "Here are your orders from the company." He leaned against his cane and twirled his moustache, while Captain Riggs adjusted his glasses and scanned the papers.

"Get that stuff aboard, lively," said Captain Riggs to Harris, and the mate gave orders to have the slings thrown outboard.

"Where do they go?" asked Harris.

Captain Riggs looked at Trego inquiringly.

"In the storeroom below—right under the feet of me," said Trego, stamping his foot.

"Cargo in the storeroom," said Captain Riggs in surprise.

"Eet ees for you to obey," snapped Trego excitedly. "You will please to see from my papers that I am the commander of all. Read eet again eef you do not know!" And he shook his malacca cane in the air.

"Get that cargo aboard and stow as this gentleman—Mr.—what is it, Trego?—as Mr. Trego says. Move navy-style! Keep clear of the side there, you! Can't you see we've got cargo coming over there!"

"My dear sirs, I beg your pardon," said a familiar voice, and I stepped to the rail and looked over to see the Rev. Luther Meeker standing at the edge of the embankment, within a few feet of where Trego, Riggs, and Harris stood.

"Get out the way!" bawled Riggs to him.

"No offence, I hope," said the missionary, "but is this the steamer Kut Sang?"

"It is," said Riggs, and turned his attention to Harris and Trego, who were giving orders to the Chinese at the winch.

"Then all is well," said Meeker, and he turned away toward the gangplank, where the two men were standing with his organ between them, awaiting his orders.

"Go right on board with it, my good men," he said to them. "This is my ship, sure enough," and he preceded them up the gang.

Captain Riggs came up the ladder from the foredeck in time to see the men bringing the organ aboard, although Meeker was out of his sight by the time the captain reached a position where he had a view of the gang.

"Here. Where are you chaps going?" he shouted to the porters.

They stopped and looked up at him.

"Gear for a passenger," said the taller of the two.

"What passenger?" demanded Riggs, in surprise.

"A parson," said the spokesman, and as he said it Meeker himself came up the after-ladder.

"Ah, the captain," he said. "I am the Rev. Luther Meeker," he explained, presenting his ticket. "I am going to Hong-Kong, and, if I am not mistaken, this is the good ship Kut Sang"

"That your baggage? All right, you men—come aboard and look sharp."

"That is my hymnal organ," said Meeker, looking over the side. "Come right along with it, my good men, but leave it below. How do you do, my dear Mr. Trenholm? Captain, those two men are sailors who are looking for a ship, if—"

"I'll meet you below in a minute in the saloon," said Captain Riggs, handing back the ticket. "Mind that you stay aboard, because we sail at once, sir."

Meeker bowed to me again, and hurried aft, twirling his shell crucifix between his fingers in a nervous manner.

"Hang a parson, anyway," growled Riggs, grinning at me. "They always make a fuss—like as not he'll sing his way to Hong-Kong, with that old melodeon of his. Oh, Mr. Harris! There are two men below with a parson who say they are sailors. Have the Dutchman sign them on if they are able hands."

He went down the ladder again to the fore-deck, and I went down to my stateroom to see that my baggage was safe.

"Smart job, my man; smart job!" I heard the Rev. Luther Meeker saying as
I stepped into the passage.

He was in the stateroom next to mine, but the door was open.

"Who's that?" asked somebody cautiously. Then, in a louder tone: "We got your dunnage stowed all snug, sir."

I stepped into my room, and, after a minute's whispered consultation, I heard some one step into the passageway and run forward. Looking out I saw the little red-headed man scurrying away.

"Single her up!" called Captain Riggs from the bridge, and I knew we were letting go of Manila as the winches drew in the mooring-lines, and the whistle blew a farewell blast.