She seemed, indeed, to have been used as a running target for the secondary batteries of a cruiser.  A hail of minor shells could not have given her upper works a more broken, torn, and devastated aspect:  and she had about her the worn, weary air of ships coming from the far ends of the world—­and indeed with truth, for in her short passage she had been very far; sighting, verily, even the coast of the Great Beyond, whence no ship ever returns to give up her crew to the dust of the earth.  She was incrusted and gray with salt to the trucks of her masts and to the top of her funnel; as though (as some facetious seaman said) “the crowd on board had fished her out somewhere from the bottom of the sea and brought her in here for salvage.”  And further, excited by the felicity of his own wit, he offered to give five pounds for her—­“as she stands.”

Before she had been quite an hour at rest, a meagre little man, with a red-tipped nose and a face cast in an angry mould, landed from a sampan on the quay of the Foreign Concession, and incontinently turned to shake his fist at her.

A tall individual, with legs much too thin for a rotund stomach, and with watery eyes, strolled up and remarked, “Just left her—­eh?  Quick work.”

He wore a soiled suit of blue flannel with a pair of dirty cricketing shoes; a dingy gray moustache drooped from his lip, and daylight could be seen in two places between the rim and the crown of his hat.

“Hallo! what are you doing here?” asked the ex-second-mate of the Nan-Shan, shaking hands hurriedly.

“Standing by for a job—­chance worth taking—­got a quiet hint,” explained the man with the broken hat, in jerky, apathetic wheezes.

The second shook his fist again at the Nan-Shan.  “There’s a fellow there that ain’t fit to have the command of a scow,” he declared, quivering with passion, while the other looked about listlessly.

“Is there?”

But he caught sight on the quay of a heavy seaman’s chest, painted brown under a fringed sailcloth cover, and lashed with new manila line.  He eyed it with awakened interest.

“I would talk and raise trouble if it wasn’t for that damned Siamese flag.  Nobody to go to—­or I would make it hot for him.  The fraud!  Told his chief engineer—­that’s another fraud for you—­I had lost my nerve.  The greatest lot of ignorant fools that ever sailed the seas.  No!  You can’t think . . .”

“Got your money all right?” inquired his seedy acquaintance suddenly.

“Yes.  Paid me off on board,” raged the second mate. “’Get your breakfast on shore,’ says he.”

“Mean skunk!” commented the tall man, vaguely, and passed his tongue on his lips.  “What about having a drink of some sort?”

“He struck me,” hissed the second mate.

“No!  Struck!  You don’t say?” The man in blue began to bustle about sympathetically.  “Can’t possibly talk here.  I want to know all about it.  Struck—­eh?  Let’s get a fellow to carry your chest.  I know a quiet place where they have some bottled beer. . . .”