"Why, what's wrong about being a Mason?" Matt protested. "Cappy's
a Mason and so am I."

"Nothing wrong about it--with you and Cappy Ricks. That's your
privilege. You're Protestants."

"Well, maybe the chief's a Protestant, too," Matt suggested, but
Mike Murphy silenced him with a sardonic smile.

"With that name?" he queried, and laughed the brief, mirthless
laugh of the man who knows. "And he says he's from Belfast! Man,
I could cut that Kerry brogue with a belaying pin."

"Why, Mike," Matt interrupted, "I never before suspected you were
intolerant of a shipmate's private convictions. I must say this
attitude of yours is disturbing."

"Why, I'm not a bigot," Murphy protested virtuously. "Who told
you that?"

"Why, you're a Catholic, and you resent Reardon because he's a
Protestant."

"Not a bit of it. You're a Protestant, and don't I love you like
a brother?"

Matt thought he saw the light. "Oh, I see," he replied. "It's
because Reardon is an Irish Protestant."