He would surely remember, and sometime he might have occasion to make use of me.

At least I would no longer remain in his mind as a mere foremast hand to be kicked about, and spoken to like a dog.

I went back to my polishing of brass in a more cheerful mood--perhaps this would prove the first step leading to my greater future liberty on the _Namur_.

I had finished my labor on the carronade, and was fastening down securely the tarpaulin, when a thin, stoop-shouldered fellow, with a hang-dog face crept up the ladder to the poop, and shuffled over to where LeVere was gazing out over the rail, oblivious to his approach.
"Mister LeVere, sir," he spoke apologetically, his voice no more than a wisp of sound.
The mulatto wheeled about startled.
"Oh, it's you! Well, what is it, Gunsaules ?" "Senor Estada, sir; he wishes to see a sailor named Gates in the cabin." "Who?
Gates?
Oh, yes, the new man." He swept his eyes about, until he saw me.

"Gates is your name, isn't it ?" "Yes, sir." "Follow the steward below; Senor Estada wishes to see you--go just as you are." "Very good, sir--is this the steward ?" The fellow led the way, amusing me by the peculiar manner in which his long legs clung to the ladder, and then wobbled about on the rolling deck until he attained the protection of the companion-way.