"Him? Oh, he's bossing the Lower Deck, but he's come up here till Candlass comes aboard, I suppose."
Perhaps two hours later this instalment of steers was all tied up, and the remaining space of deck, awaiting the next batch, was almost all strewn with hay. Many of the men seemed bored. There was a constant hinting that an adjournment for liquor should be made. Candlass had not yet appeared; Rafferty had disappeared; the "Push" was alone, and Mike seemed to be half in command.
"I tell yez," he said, "there's nobody going ashore till the bedding-down's finished."
"Candlass didn't tell you to——" began he who has been spoken of as a kind of diminutive Mike.
"Never mind what Candlass told me. I'm telling you that if Candlass comes aboard and finds that we haven't finished bedding-down entoirely it's me he'll jump on."
"Well, good luck, here's beddin'-dahn," said Cockney.
Mike drew erect, stretched, blew a great breath, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
"I could be doing with a drop meself," he said, "but duty's duty."
There was a halt in the arrival of the hay.
"Where's them lads bringing the hay?" he asked.