A Chinese Command | Page 3

career in the British Navy, and all but broken his heart.
Dick Penryn had scarcely finished another page of his very fascinating book when he heard the front door of the cottage open. A furious gust of wind tore through the little house for a moment, causing even the occupant of the easy chair to shiver in sympathy with his friend; and then the door was shut with a slam, and he heard Murray Frobisher's well-known footsteps ascending the stairs. But there was not the former light-hearted spring in them. Murray was coming upstairs slowly and heavily, like a man carrying a ponderous burden, and Dick heaved a sharp sigh as he murmured to himself, "No luck again to-day, evidently; else we should have had Murray coming up here full steam ahead. Poor old boy! I wonder what on earth will happen to him if he doesn't get a berth soon? A man can't go on like this for ever without losing heart; and there are already signs that the boy is beginning to lose hope. I wish to Heaven there was something I could do for him; but unfortunately I have not a particle of influence; I am absolutely powerless."
At this moment the door of the little room opened, and Murray stood framed in the opening, looking at his friend with an expression in which weariness, disappointment, and a certain suggestion of relief were curiously blended. If Dick Penryn was what some people were in the habit of calling a giant, then Murray Frobisher could only be considered gigantic. Standing fully six feet four inches in his boots, broad in proportion, weighing fully sixteen stone, with dark, olive complexion bronzed almost to the shade of an Arab's by exposure to the weather, and with clean-shaven cheeks and lips, and close-cropped, wavy black hair, the man was a truly magnificent specimen of humanity, compelling the attention of all with whom he came in contact.
"So you're back at last, Murray," shouted Penryn, leaping out of his chair, and speaking more cheerfully than he felt that the occasion warranted. "Come inside, man; come inside! Don't stand there in the doorway letting in all the draught; goodness knows it's cold enough without that!" And as Murray closed the door behind him, and slowly pulled forward a chair to the fire, he proceeded: "And what's the news to-day, old man? Any luck of any sort; or has it been the usual style of things--offer your services and have them declined with, or without, thanks?"
"Well," answered Murray in his deep bass tones, stretching out his half-frozen hands to the blaze, "I hardly know what to think about to-day. It certainly has been a little different from the usual run of things, but not very much. During the whole of the morning, and for the better part of the afternoon, luck was dead against me, as usual. Then, about four o'clock, there came just one little ray of light to brighten the darkness."
"Capital!" broke in Dick, cheerfully. "Every little helps, you know. Straws show which way the wind blows, and all the rest of it. Tell us about this ray of light of yours."
"Well," answered Frobisher, with a wry smile, "I don't know that it was very much of a ray, after all; but I'll tell you what happened. I had been running up and down office stairs from before nine o'clock until about three in the afternoon, without result, and I became heartily sick of it; and just by way of a change, I made up my mind to take a run down to the docks and see whether there was anything doing there.
"I got down at about three-thirty, and, feeling pretty hungry--for I had had nothing to eat since breakfast--I went into a small place within hail of the dock gates, and asked for some bread and cheese and beer. The landlady, a kindly old soul, seeing, I suppose, that I looked cold, and as though I could do with a rest, showed me into a little sanctum labelled Captains' Room, where, I was glad to see, there blazed a fine big fire, before which stood two or three very cosy-looking arm-chairs.
"Throwing myself into one, I began to discuss my frugal luncheon with considerable appetite, and had nearly finished when the door opened, and in came the most curious-looking little man I have ever set eyes on. That he was a seaman was perfectly apparent to the meanest intelligence, and I at once set him down as the first officer--as they call themselves nowadays--or perhaps even the skipper, of a tramp steamer. He was certainly not more than five feet in height, but his breadth of shoulder and depth of chest were so enormous as to amount, literally, to a deformity; and I should judge