bound hand and foot. Beside me is Ptomaine Joe, in the same unpleasant predicament. Nearby is Kid Roberts, sittin' against a bulkhead, but his arms is also tied behind his back. Laugh that off! The oversize sailor which had stayed four rounds with the Kid is standin' over him, bawlin' him out in terms which introduced somethin' new in the way of two-handed cussin' and highly tickled the assembled deckhands. Durin' the next few minutes, we learned that the fightin' sailor was mate of the ship we're aboard and evidently one of the old-time "buckos," from the way the other help seemed to fear him. Angela is nowheres in sight, for which I'm more than thankful, though that don't stop me from worryin' plenty over what happened to her amidst a crew of rats like these! Anyways, after turnin' his free-swingin' tongue on me and Ptomaine, the mate chased all but two guys out and himself left the forecastle.
Well, we swap experiences with Kid Roberts, whilst our two guards watches us suspiciously. The fact that he'd been Shanghied didn't seem to particularly annoy the Kid, which appeared to view the whole affair as a interestin' adventure. He even laughed at me and Ptomaine for bein' burnt up at his account of how he was overpowered and kidnapped by the sailors, after the bout in the hall.
"But what's the big idea?" I says. "What does these guys want with us?" I asked him.
"With you and Ptomaine, I'm sure I don't know," smiles Kid Roberts, "unless they've brought you along as mascots. As for me—well, I've been told I've got
