And the head clerk, who was also the head wit, took a peek at him coming, and very politely said, “Pray be seated?” And, also very politely, “From whence came you and what willst thou?”

The chuckling heads bobbed above the rows of desks.  The head clerk himself had to gaze window-ward to smother his smile.

“Gramercy, kind sir—­”

“Gramercy?  Eh, what?  Gramercy?”

“Gramercy Park—­you know where Gramercy Park is?  Or didn’t you ask me where I came from?”

“Oh-h-Oh-h, yes.”

“Of course, and I’m after a berth as pump-man on your oil ship sailing to-day for the Gulf.”

“And what, may I ask, do you know of our class of ships?”

“Only what I’ve heard—­most modern oil-tankers afloat, and I’d like to try one out—­and sail the Gulf again, if you’ll give me the chance.”

“M-m—­what are your qualifications?”

“Qualifications?  For pump-man on an oil-tanker?”

“Pump-man—­yes.  And on an oil-tanker.  I’m not hiring a rough rider, or a policeman, or an aeroplanist—­just a pump-man.”

Through his open door the new superintendent caught the wink which his head clerk directed at the second clerk.  And caught it so easily that the thought came to him that to share in the humor of the head clerk may have been one of the recreations of his predecessor.

“What has been your experience with marine machinery?  What were your last three or four places?”

“My last three or four?  Well, one was being second-assistant engineer on a government collier from the Philippines with a denaturalized skipper, and for purser a slick up-state New Yorker; and both of ’em at the old game—­grafting off the grub allowance.  And that’s bad.”

“Eh—­what’s bad?”

“Grafting off the grub.  Men quit a ship for poor grub quicker than they do for poor pay.  For a week after we hit San Francisco I didn’t get any further away from the dining-room of the nearest hotel—­well, than”—­he turned suddenly—­“than that fellow there is from here—­that fat, knock-kneed chap there who seems to have so much to say about me.”  The second clerk, who was also the second head wit, yelped like a suddenly squelched concertina and was quiet.

The new-comer, after a grave study of the knock-kneed one’s person, resumed his narrative.  “Then oiler on a cattle steamer.  Ever been on a cattleman?”

“Huh!” The head clerk was scowling tremendously.

“No?  You ought to try one sometime.  Some are all right, but some are”—­he looked sidewise at the stenographer—­“well, no matter.  One night two sweet-tempered, light-complexioned coal-passers hit me together, one with a shovel, the other with a slice-bar.  It was the slice-bar, I think, that got me.  I didn’t see it coming—­or going either—­but probably it was the slice-bar.”  He bent his neck and parted the heavy black hair.  A white welt showed through the hair.