showed above the heads of the swarming soldiers. With that picture in
his mind he went to sleep.

They were far out of sight of land in the morning and loafing south
before the trade wind, with a heavy ground swell kicking them along
from behind. Harrigan saw the _Mary Rogers_ plainly for the first time.
She was small, not more than fifteen hundred or two thousand tons, and
the dingiest, sootiest of all tramp freighters. He had little time to
make observations.

In the first place all hands washed down the decks, some of the men in
rubber boots, the others barefooted, with their trousers rolled up
above the knees. Harrigan was one of this number. The cool water from
the hose swished pleasantly about his toes. He began to think better of
life at sea as the wind blew from his nostrils the musty odors of the
forecastle. Then the bos'n, with the suggestion of a grin in his eyes,
ordered him up to scrub the bridge. He climbed the steps with a bucket
in one hand and a brush in the other. There stood McTee leaning against
the wheelhouse and staring straight ahead across the bows. He seemed
quite oblivious of his presence until, having finished his job,
Harrigan started back down the steps.

"D'you call this clean?" rumbled McTee. "All over again!"

And Harrigan dropped to his knees without protest and commenced
scrubbing again. As he worked, he hummed a tune and saw the narrow jaw
of McTee jut out. Harrigan smiled.

He had scarcely finished stowing his bucket and brush away when the
bos'n brought him word that he was wanted in the fireroom. Masters's