"What's it to you?" Mulligan Jacobs snarled back. The voices below
hushed. I knew every man stood there tense and listening. No; the
philosophers have not yet explained Mulligan Jacobs. There is
something more to him than the last word has said in any book. He
stood there in the darkness, a fragile creature with curvature of the
spine, facing alone the first mate, and he was not afraid.

Mr. Pike cursed him with fearful, unrepeatable words, and again
demanded what he was doing there.

"I left me plug of tobacco here when I was coiling down last," said
the little twisted man--no; he did not say it. He spat it out like
so much venom.

"Get off of here, or I'll throw you off, you and your tobacco," raged
the mate.

Mulligan Jacobs lurched closer to Mr. Pike, and in the gloom and with
the roll of the ship swayed in the other's face.

"By God, Jacobs!" was all the mate could say.

"You old stiff," was all the terrible little cripple could retort.

Mr. Pike gripped him by the collar and swung him in the air.

"Are you goin' down?--or am I goin' to throw you down?" the mate
demanded.

I cannot describe their manner of utterance. It was that of wild