A vague foreboding filled Blake's soul. He had imagined that the ignominy and agony of physical labor was a thing of the past with him. And he was still sore in every sinew and muscle of his huge body.
"You don't mean stoke-hole work?" he demanded.
The fourth engineer continued to look worried.
"You don't happen to know anything about machinery, do you?" he began.
"Of course I do," retorted Blake, thinking gratefully of his early days as a steamfitter.
"Then why couldn't I put you in a cap and jumper and work you in as one of the greasers?"
"What do you mean by greasers?"
"That 's an oiler in the engine-room. It—it may not be the coolest place on earth, in this latitude, but it sure beats the stoke-hole!"
And it was in this way, thirty minutes later, that Blake became a greaser in the engine-room of the Trunella.
Already, far above him, he could hear the
