THE GAM. 



185 



the sea-chest, dumped the ashes on the forecastle 

 floor. 



" Well, boys," he said, looking out craftily from 

 under his ragged red eye-brows and lifting an 

 awkward forefinger in a jerky gesture, as if to 

 say, " Keep your weather eye open ; she's com- 

 ing j " — " Well, boys • you know how them 

 sogerin' Moslems hates pork, 'an pork-grease, an 

 any sort o' grease. Worse 'n Sheenies, ain't they ? 



" Well, the old man, he comes it on 'em mighty 

 ship-shape. He'd clap a lump o' butter in the 

 palm o' his flipper just 'fore he come up on deck 

 in the morin' ; an pretty soon a brown Ay-rab 

 would sail up to him to talk tradin' 'an that like ; 

 an' when them two spliced hands it was worse 'n 

 whales an' killers. 



" Then, by the bloody wars, they was a 

 tornado ! That Moslem would be brought up all 

 standin', an' he'd jump back an' pull his sheath- 

 knife out o' his belt and strike a figger like a 

 villian in a play, an' sing out, ' If you wa' n't my 

 friend, I'd kill you in a minute ! ' You ought to 

 see it, lads. 



" Then the old man would sing out for the 

 cabin-boy to turn to an' fetch a basin o' water an' 

 a clean towel, an' when the Ay-rab had swabbed 

 his flipper he'd feel chummy again and then them 



