"Is the head man around? His name's Holt,
ain't it?" continued the stranger, replacing his cap
and stuffing his handkerchief into the side-pocket of
his coat.
As the words fell from his lips Tod's quick eye
caught a sudden gleam like that of a search-light
flashed from beneath the heavy eyebrows of the
speaker.
"That's his name," answered Tod. "Want to
see him? He's inside." The surfman had not yet
changed his position nor moved a muscle of his body.
Tiger cats are often like this.
Captain Holt's burly form stepped from the door.
He had overheard the conversation, and not recognizing
the voice had come to find out what the man
wanted.
"You lookin' for me? I'm Captain Holt. What
kin I do for ye?" asked the captain in his quick,
imperious way.
"That's what he said, sir," rejoined Tod, bringing
himself to an erect position in deference to his chief.
The stranger rose from his seat and took his cap
from his head.
"I'm out o' work, sir, and want a job, and I
thought you might take me on."
Tod was now convinced that the stranger was a
foreigner. No man of Tod's class ever took his hat
off to his superior officer. They had other ways of
showing their respect for his authority--instant obedience,
before and behind his back, for instance.
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