away from you, an' that's no Chinaman's dream, nuther."

"It's all my fault runnin' by dead reckonin'," the honest Gibney
protested. "Mac ain't to fault. The engine room telegraph busted
an' he got the wrong signal."

"It's his business to see to it that he's got an engine room
telegraph that won't bust----"

"You dog!" McGuffey roared and sprang at the skipper, who leaped
nimbly up the little ladder to the top of the pilot house and
stood prepared to kick Mr. McGuffey in the face should that
worthy venture up after him. "I can't persuade you to git me
nothin' that I ought to have. I'm tired workin' with junk an'
scraps an' copper wire and pieces o' string. I'm through!"

"You're right--you're through, because you're fired!" Scraggs
shrieked in insane rage. "Get off my ship, you maritime impostor,
or I'll take a pistol to you. Overboard with you, you greasy,
addlepated bounder! You're rotten, understand? Rotten! Rotten!
Rotten!"

"You owe me eight dollars an' six bits, Scraggs," Mr. McGuffey
reminded his owner calmly. "Chuck down the spondulicks an' I'll
get off your ship."

Captain Scraggs was beyond reason, so he tossed the money down to
the engineer. "Now git," he commanded.

Without further ado, Mr. McGuffey started across the deckload to