“Ye hear them chatterin’?” he asked. “They’re sea lawyers! Ah hae hopes they start to massacre themselves.”
Micky rubbed the bristles on his chin.
“We’ll reach land in a day or two,” he said. “Then we’ll find out the answer for the boxes of tea and the voyage and the other questions.”
“Tay!” exclaimed Mike. “Ye always said it was tay. This looks like a tay party. It—it——”
The Scotch-Irish engineer’s statement was broken by the appearance of Ivan’s bulky form in the companion. The Russian came down to the grating. The sentry pointed the rifle at the group. Mike dodged beneath the forward bulkhead door and waited there with bent head.
“McMasters!” called Ivan. “Come here, McMasters!”
Micky folded his arms across his hairy breast and stared at the Russian.
“What d’you want?” he asked.
Ivan peered through the engine-room gloom.
“We have decided,” he said heavily, “that you can join us as a brother. We have voted on it. We will make you rich. You can be one of us.”