“You sot!” trembled Madden. “Whiskey will not be your excuse next time!” He caught the Irishman's arm, “Come on!” And before Smith realized what had happened, the two men and his liquor were out of the door and gone.
Madden slammed the shutter viciously, and the tilt of a wave helped give it a loud bang. Then he gave the jug a wrathful swing and smashed it against the nearest stanchion.
“Smith'll have some sense when he can't get any more,” he shouted in Hogan's ear. Then after a moment, “Is there nobody else to take the watch?”
“There's Dashalong, sir,” bellowed Mike, “but he stood last night.”
“How about you?” inquired Leonard.
“All roight.” The Celt was about to turn for the high bridge at the stern, when Madden stopped him.
“When was your last watch, Mike?”
“This afternoon, sor.”
“When did Greer stand watch?”
“He's niver told anywan, sor; I think it must be a saycret.”
“Get to your cabin and turn in,” directed
