his mind, as from the foregone conclusion that there was nothing there to probe.
"Hump," he said to me, elaborately polite, "kindly take Mr. Mugridge's arm and help him up on deck. He is not feeling very well."
"And tell Johnson to douse him with a few buckets of salt water," he added, in a lower tone for my ear alone.
I left Mr. Mugridge on deck, in the hands of a couple of grinning sailors who had been told off for the purpose. Mr. Mugridge was sleepily spluttering that he was a gentleman's son. But as descended the companion stairs to clear the table I heard him shriek as the first bucket of water struck him.
Wolf Larsen was counting his winnings.
"One hundred and eighty-five dollars even," he said aloud. "Just as I thought. The beggar came aboard without a cent."
"And what you have won is mine, sir," I said boldly.
He favored me with a quizzical smile. "Hump, I have studied some grammar in my time, and I think your tenses are tangled. `Was mine,' you should have said, not `is mine.'"
"It is a question, not of grammar, but of ethics," I answered.
It was possibly a minute before he spoke.
"D'ye know, Hump," he said, with a slow seriousness which had in it an indefinable strain of sadness, "that this is the first time have heard the word `ethics' in the mouth of a man. You and I are the only men on this ship who know its meaning."
"At one time in my life," he continued, after another pause, " dreamed that I might some day talk with men who used such language, that I might lift myself out of