A Chinese Command | Page 3

whom Penryn was momentarily expecting on

this stormy, cold, and dismal evening in March, 1893, just a year after
the catastrophe in the Channel which had ruined his 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.