“’Afternoon, Mr. McFee. Fine, isn’t it, for the time of year? Have your curs forgotten that they’re paid to work this steamboat up Mississippi River to a city called New Orleans? Or have they induced the other watch to go below and give them a spell?”
“Guid God, sir, dinna jest!” replied the Chief.
“Ye remember what yon scoundrel said on Liverpool dock wall? Weel, he’s been as guid as his words, sir. We’ve found an infernal machine already.”
“Well?” drawled Kettle.
“Man, we may be blown to the sea-floor any minute.”
“Sea whisky! sea grandmother!”
“Man, sir, see wi’ your own een. By God’s guid mercy the donkeyman picked it from among the coals, or it’s no knowin’ where we’d bin this blessed moment!”
“Hand it up here,” the skipper commanded shortly.
The burly donkeyman, half grinning, half afraid, came up the iron steps and handed the captain a box painted to look like a knob of coal.
“It was ticking when I picked it up, sir,” he said, “but when I handled it, the ticking stopped.”