“What luck?” said O’Gorman, under his breath.
“Four. And you?”
“Only two.” O’Gorman motioned with his head toward the smoke-stack, and lowered his voice to a whisper: “He’s got hold of an awful lot of the men.”
Cheviot nodded. “Yes. We’re up against that fellow everywhere we turn.”
“Always two leaders in every crowd,” O’Gorman said. “One to lead up, t’other to lead down. I’m ready to bet on you!”
They talked in undertones. Only Gedge could be heard distinctly. He was growing hoarse. His increasing audience was taking on the proportions of a mass meeting. But the voice of the popular leader was showing wear. He ended his oration with some abruptness. “Come along, Joslin. Let’s go and licker up.”
“Now! Nail him now!” whispered Cheviot, and vaulting over a prodigious pile of machinery he disappeared with Blumpitty and several others into the hold, while O’Gorman darted out in the opposite direction just in time to intercept Gedge and Joslin.
“There’s got to be two shifts. You fellows comin’ to help?”
“Help!” Gedge rolled out a brace of handsome oaths. “Help! that—captain?”
“No, help us, help yourselves out of this fix.” Then, before Gedge could get a word of disclaimer over his lips: “I hear you are worrying about wages. But this isn’t a question of money. Lives are at stake. See that ice over yonder? And look here, I’ve got more on board this ship than any other one man. Fifteen thousand dollars is what the freight alone has cost me. But to save your life”—he took hold of Gedge’s arm—“to save your life, every ounce of mine may go overboard, and I’ll help shift it at nothing an hour.”