"Hallo! Plenty of draught now," yelled the second engineer at once, as
though he had been all the time looking out for Jukes. The donkeyman,
a dapper little chap with a dazzling fair skin and a tiny, gingery
moustache, worked in a sort of mute transport. They were keeping a full
head of steam, and a profound rumbling, as of an empty furniture van
trotting over a bridge, made a sustained bass to all the other noises of
the place.

"Blowing off all the time," went on yelling the second. With a sound as
of a hundred scoured saucepans, the orifice of a ventilator spat upon
his shoulder a sudden gush of salt water, and he volleyed a stream of
curses upon all things on earth including his own soul, ripping and
raving, and all the time attending to his business. With a sharp clash
of metal the ardent pale glare of the fire opened upon his bullet head,
showing his spluttering lips, his insolent face, and with another clang
closed like the white-hot wink of an iron eye.

"Where's the blooming ship? Can you tell me? blast my eyes! Under
water--or what? It's coming down here in tons. Are the condemned cowls
gone to Hades? Hey? Don't you know anything--you jolly sailor-man you
. . . ?"

Jukes, after a bewildered moment, had been helped by a roll to dart
through; and as soon as his eyes took in the comparative vastness, peace
and brilliance of the engine-room, the ship, setting her stern heavily
in the water, sent him charging head down upon Mr. Rout.

The chief's arm, long like a tentacle, and straightening as if worked
by a spring, went out to meet him, and deflected his rush into a