His body encased in a short black jacket with narrow sleeves, his long legs in very tight trousers, made up an agile, youthful, slender figure.

He moved forward suddenly, and interrupted the mate's monologue.
"More coffee, Mr.Franklin?
Nice fresh lot.

Piping hot.

I am going to give breakfast to the saloon directly, and the cook is raking his fire out.

Now's your chance." The mate who, on account of his peculiar build, could not turn his head freely, twisted his thick trunk slightly, and ran his black eyes in the corners towards the steward.
"And is the precious pair of them out ?" he growled.
The steward, pouring out the coffee into the mate's cup, muttered moodily but distinctly: "The lady wasn't when I was laying the table." Powell's ears were fine enough to detect something hostile in this reference to the captain's wife.