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He stirred uneasily, and opening his eyes, saw that there were two men leaning side by side against the forecastle.

“In the matter of wit, you grant him less than his due,” said the first speaker. ‘‘And in another matter you charge him with a heavier burden than he needs bear.”

The cook stirred and groaned and the first speaker chuckled, at which the cook’s gorge rose from anger.

“O jewel among cooks!” one of the two called softly, and the unhappy man knew by the voice that the speaker was Philip Marsham.

Naming no names and talking in roundabout phrases as people do when they wish one to know their meaning and another not to, the two continued with no heed at all to the cook, whom they thought a mere drunken lout. And indeed, their undertones were scarcely audible; but anger sharpened the cook’s ears and his wits, and he lay and ruminated over such chance sentences as he got.

“It puzzled me from the first,” said the other, "to see how easily you bore with your comrade of the road.”

“Why, he is a good soul in his way.”

The other gave a grunt of disgust.

“Nay, it is a wonder to me that a lad with your nice notions ever found his way to sea,’’ Phil retorted.

“And I might never have gone, had not Captain Francis Candle been my godfather.”

‘‘As for me, I have seen both sides of life; and, but for a certain thing that happened, I might be well enough contented where I am.”

“And that?”

Phil hesitated, for though they had talked freely, as