Michael J. knew his own mind, and, like all the Irish, was a marvel at
repartee. Quick as was Terence Reardon, therefore, Michael J. Murphy
was quicker. Perhaps all of his message had not been delivered before
Reardon closed the tube, but the chief got enough of it for all
practical purposes.

He caught one word--"Renegade"; a word so terrible that it left the
chief engineer speechless with fury, and before he could call the
skipper a baboon, the golden opportunity was gone. He closed the tube
with a sigh.






CHAPTER V





While the _Narcissus_ was loading, the Fates were keeping in reserve
for Cappy Ricks, Matt Peasley and Mr. Skinner a blow that was to stun
them when it fell. About the time the _Narcissus_, fully loaded, was
snoring out to sea past Old Point Comfort, Matt Peasley came across
Seaborn & Company's telegram in the unanswered-correspondence tray on
his desk. Five times he read it; and then, in the language of the
poet, hell began to pop!