head had hit somethin’, when we hauled him aboard. He’s all over that naow. Yes, this is the cabin. ’Tain’t in order, but you’re quite welcome to look araound. Those are his figures on the stovepipe, where we keep the reckonin’ mostly.”
“Did he sleep here?” said Mrs. Cheyne, sitting on a yellow locker and surveying the disorderly bunks.
“No. He berthed forward, madam, an’ only fer him an’ my boy hookin’ fried pies an muggin’ up when they ought to ha’ been asleep, I dunno as I’ve any special fault to find with him.”
“There weren’t nothin’ wrong with Harve,” said Uncle Salters, descending the steps. > “He hung my boots on the main-truck, and he ain’t over an’ above respectful to such as knows more’n he do, specially about farmin’; but he