the porthole. He looked at the dim port for several seconds intently, as if he could not quite make out their faces. Madden frowned, jerked his head up and down in a signal for Malone to approach.
The mate's little eyes went round at the request. He made a surprised gesture to his partner, scrambled to his feet and drew near. The whole cabin followed his motions.
“W'ot is it?” he whispered, still peering into the half-faces seen in the round hole.
“Madden and Smith.”
“W'ot!”
“Yes.”
“Great sharks! W'ot you lads doin' 'ere?”
“Came off the tug—what is this?”
“W'ot is w'ot?”
“This ship we're on?”
It seemed as if Malone's little eyes would pop out of his head.
“W'ot—didn't they ketch you? You don't mean to say you—you jest straggled aboard?”
“Sure we did. Catch us? Who is there to catch us?”
Malone stared as if at two ghosts. “Say!
