"I had to let him in on it," complained the other. "If it came to a hue up or a searching party through here, they 'd spot you first thing. You 're not a passenger; you 're not signed; you're not anything!"
"Well, supposing I 'm not?"
"Then they 'd haul you back and give you a half year in that Lazaretto o' theirs!"
"Well, what do I have to do to keep from being hauled back?"
"You 'll have to be one o' the workin' crew, until we get off. The Chief says that, and I think he's right!"
A vague foreboding filled Blake's soul. He had imagined that the ignominy and agony of physical labor was a thing of the past with him. And he was still sore in every sinew and muscle of his huge body.
"You don't mean stoke-hole work?" he demanded.
The fourth engineer continued to look worried.
"You don't happen to know anything about machinery, do you?" he began.
"Of course I do," retorted Blake, thinking gratefully of his early days as a steamfitter.