Dolger explained majestically, “I am de chief. Diss feuer iss by me.”
They laughed with the contempt of the regular for the volunteer, of the professional for the amateur. They began to couple up a line of hose, under the lieutenant’s orders, dragging the lengths out on the pier.
“Stob!” Dolger ordered. “Stob idt so!” he was suddenly calm and haughty. “I don’ vand yah.” They paid no attention to him. He waved his hands at them, with the palms out, as if swimming, in a gesture that was ridiculous. “Go avay back! I don’ vand yah. Nein!”
“Shine” with the nozzle, as he shoved past, said, “Run away, Dutchy! Nix kommer ous. Go an’ lost yerself!” And Dolger put his trumpet to his mouth and ran up the pier, shouting indignant German to the men in the roadway.
Noonan had been watching the incident from the wheelhouse. “What is it, Dan?” he asked. “What’s he goin’ to do?”
“I guess he’s goin’ to give us what Silver Nine gave the Red Crows,” Keighley answered, without a smile. “It’ll remind y’ of ol’ times.”
“Aw, quit yer foolin, Dan,” Noonan said anxiously. “What’s he up to?”
“He’s goin’ to bring his gang down here to take charge o’ the boat,” Keighley assured him. “How’re yer teeth?”
Noonan licked his lips. “No!” he exclaimed.
“That’s right.”