spin towards the speaking-tubes. At the same time Mr. Rout repeated
earnestly:

"You've got to hurry up, whatever it is."

Jukes yelled "Are you there, sir?" and listened. Nothing. Suddenly the
roar of the wind fell straight into his ear, but presently a small voice
shoved aside the shouting hurricane quietly.

"You, Jukes?--Well?"

Jukes was ready to talk: it was only time that seemed to be wanting. It
was easy enough to account for everything. He could perfectly imagine
the coolies battened down in the reeking 'tween-deck, lying sick and
scared between the rows of chests. Then one of these chests--or perhaps
several at once--breaking loose in a roll, knocking out others, sides
splitting, lids flying open, and all these clumsy Chinamen rising up in
a body to save their property. Afterwards every fling of the ship would
hurl that tramping, yelling mob here and there, from side to side, in a
whirl of smashed wood, torn clothing, rolling dollars. A struggle once
started, they would be unable to stop themselves. Nothing could stop
them now except main force. It was a disaster. He had seen it, and that
was all he could say. Some of them must be dead, he believed. The rest
would go on fighting. . . .

He sent up his words, tripping over each other, crowding the narrow
tube. They mounted as if into a silence of an enlightened comprehension
dwelling alone up there with a storm. And Jukes wanted to be dismissed
from the face of that odious trouble intruding on the great need of the
ship.