When I opened my eyes I looked up into the face of a good-looking young
fellow of about two and twenty years, who was smiling broadly as if he
thought it a great joke to wake a man out of a sound sleep on a hot
afternoon.
"Are you Jack Verslun?" he asked.
I nodded. It was too warm to use words recklessly.
"Pierre the Rat sent me after you," he continued.
"Why?" I asked.
"I have a berth for you," he answered. "I'm from _The Waif_. The mate
died on the run down from Sydney, and Captain Newmarch sent me ashore to
hunt up some one for his perch. Do you want it?"
"Where are you bound?" I asked.
"Manihiki group."
"What for?"
"Science expedition under the direction of Professor Herndon of San
Francisco."
I sat up and looked across the stretch of water at _The Waif_, and the
young fellow waited patiently. I knew the yacht. An English baronet had
brought the vessel out from Cowes to Brisbane, but he had made the pace
too hot in the Colonies. Out in Fortitude Valley one night the keeper of
a saloon fired a bullet into his aristocratic head, and _The Waif_ was
auctioned.
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