He began to sing in a voice a little muffled with the rum. He dwelt upon each word, singing it with gusto.
O, the bold Lollonais, so gall-ant and free,
He sailed from Saint James in the Jane chasse-marree,
Oh, there's rum and there's wine
And tobacco so fine
For all the bold sailors what sails on the sea.
He sang the refrain twice over, hammering on the table with his can. He was reaching out for another tot of rum when he fell forward gasping. His pannikin fell from the table and rolled away among the gear. Willy blinked at him for a moment, beating out the chorus with his pipe. He thought his mate was merely overcome with the spirit. He made a childish attempt to reach the jorum for another taste, and fell asleep in his chair, his pipe's ash spilling sparks upon the table. The lamp flared up a moment to show the couple to the night, and then guttered out, leaving them to their quiet.
It seemed to Joe that he was bound upon the rim of a whirlpool of flame. He was being spun about a vortex, helpless as a straw; gradually the
