"A no-good Irish hound named Murphy," McBride replied promptly, for he
had heard rumors of war aboard the Retriever and something told him
Kendall had come to borrow his second mate, in order that the
Retriever might tow out immediately. A canny, cunning lad was
McBride, but for all his Scotch blood he was no match for Captain Noah
Kendall.

"I heard he wasn't worth two squirts of bilge water," Captain Noah
lied glibly. "However, I'll take him off your hands and reimburse you
for the expense of bringing his successor down from Seattle or up from
San Francisco. My two mates have just asked to be paid off, and
despite the fact that they have signed articles, I've let them go. No
use going to sea with a pair of sulky mates, you know. Fortunately, I
had a young Down-Easter aboard and I've put him in as first mate--"

"Noah," urged McBride. "I wouldn't advise you to take this man
Murphy."

"Beggars can't be choosers," Captain Noah replied mournfully. "The
tide serves in half an hour and the tug is alongside the Retriever
now. If I have to wire to Seattle for a second mate I may not be able
to get one--and if I am forced to wire to San Francisco I may be stuck
here a week. I've shipped my crew and paid them all in advance, and
if I don't get to sea in an hour I'll lose every man Jack of them, and
have it all to do over again."

"Well, I'll speak to the fellow for you, Noah," McBride suggested, and
darted out of the cabin to interview the said Murphy. Two minutes
later he was back.