always fought in mass formation, as it were. His modus operandi was
to embrace his enemy in those terrible arms, squeeze the breath out of
him with one bearlike hug, then lay him on the deck, straddle him, and
pummel him into insensibility at his leisure. Matt gave ground
rapidly and held up a warning hand.

"One moment, my friend," he requested. "Before you get familiar on
brief acquaintance, don't you think you had better present your
credentials?"

All Hands And Feet shook his two great fists and grinned
good-naturedly.

"How dese ban suit you for credentials?" he queried.

"Fine," Matt Peasley answered; "only, before you present them, our
first duty is to the ship. I take it that you have cleared the vessel
and that after trimming me you intend to put to sea."

"You ban guess it," the Swede rumbled. "Put up de dooks. Anyhow, I
ban't have to fight little feller. Dat ban one comfort."

"You cleared the ship, eh? Well, Swede, I'm glad to hear that. I
should have cleared her myself and sailed long ago if I had only had a
skipper's ticket; but these British custom-house officials are great
sticklers for red tape and they wouldn't clear me. And, of course, a
man can't sail without his papers. When he does they send a gunboat
after him. However," he added brightly "the ship is cleared and the
skipper--so I am unofficially informed--is aboard. By the way, Swede,
I left a lot of 0.K.'d bills for stores and provision up at the office