"May God forgive you," Mike Murphy answered piously. "I am not.
I'm for their enemies. I'm for anything that's against England.
Ireland is not a colony. She's a nation. Man, man, you don't
understand. Only an Irishman can, and he gets it at his mother's or
his grandmother's knee--the word-of-mouth history of his people,
the history that isn't in the books! Do you think I can forget? Do
you think I want to forget?"

"No," Matt Peasley replied quietly; "I think you'll have to forget--
in so far as Terence Reardon is concerned. This is the land of the
free and the home of the brave, and even when you're outside the
three-mile limit I want you to remember, Mike, that the good ship
_Narcissus_ is under the American flag. The _Narcissus_ needs all her
space for cargo, Mike. There is no room aboard her for a feud. Don't
ever poke your nose into Terence Reardon's engine-room except on his
invitation or for the purpose of locating a leak. Treat him with
courtesy and do not discuss politics or religion when you meet him at
table, which will be about the only opportunity you two will have to
discuss anything; and if Reardon wants to talk religion or politics
you change your feeding time and avoid meeting him. I've taken you out
of the old _Retriever,_ Mike, where you've been earning a hundred and
twenty-five dollars a month, to put you in the _Narcissus_ at two
hundred and fifty. That is conclusive evidence that I'm for you. But
Terence Reardon is a crackajack chief engineer, and I want you to
remember that the Blue Star Navigation Company needs him in its
business quite as much as it needs Michael J. Murphy, and if you two
get scrapping I'm not going to take the trouble to investigate and
place the blame. I'll just call you both up on the carpet and make you
draw straws to see who quits."