"Ninety-eight it is," said Tom Chester.
"Yes, he's changed the note. He might have given it a couple more! Still, it's the record. Now, Monty, please forgive us; we're trying to make the best of a bad job, as you see."
"It is a bad job," assented Gilroy, whose rueful countenance concealed (but not from the girl) a vile temper smouldering. "It's pretty rough, I think, on us chaps who've been working like Kanakas all the week."
"Well, but you were pretty rough upon poor Mr. Engelhardt last night; so don't you think that it serves you quite right?"
"Poor Mr. Engelhardt!" echoed Gilroy, savagely. "So it serves us right, does it?" He forced a laugh. "What do you say, Tom?"
"I think it serves you right, too," answered Tom Chester, coolly.
Gilroy laughed again.
"So you're crackin', old chap," said he, genially. He generally was genial with Tom Chester, for whom he entertained a hatred enhanced by fear. "But I say, Naomi, need this sort of thing go on all the afternoon?"
"If it doesn't he will have to stay till to-morrow."
"Ah! I see."