"Why, of course!"
"Then let me run back to the dock and put you ashore, Mr. Reade. After that I'll come out here and patrol along the wall until broad daylight."
That was accordingly done. The "Morton" lay alongside the dock, and Nicolas instantly busied himself with casting off the rowboat and making her fast to the pier instead.
Evarts sullenly remained in the boat.
"Come on, Evarts," spoke Tom quietly.
"Mr. Reade," expostulated the late foreman, "I'm not going to be thrown out of my job like this."
"Which especial way of being thrown out do you prefer then?" Tom queried, dryly.
"I'm not going to be put out of my job until I've had at least one good talk with you," insisted the foreman.
"I'm afraid the time has passed for talking with you," Reade responded, turning toward the shore. "You lost a great chance, to-night, to serve the company with distinction, and your negligence cost the company a lot of money through the second explosion. Are you coming out of that boat—-or shall I come back after you?"
Evarts rose, with a surly air. He stepped slowly ashore, after which one of the crew cast off. The engine began to move, and the "Morton" started back to her post.