"Never mind, Bob; keep out of this. Mr. Smith had a dizzy spell and he couldn't see where he was tossing the coal. He isn't wholly responsible for what he is doing."
Smith uttered a growl.
"You making sport of me?" he demanded, in a surly tone.
"Oh, no; I couldn't think of that, because I don't see anything funny about you. You are the most serious proposition I ever set eyes on."
Smith was not grinning now. His face had drawn down into harsh, menacing lines, his chin settling close to his chest, his eyes narrowing to mere slits. Rush was watching him as the boy carelessly tossed a shovel of coal into the furnace.
Smith drew a long breath, grabbed up his shovel and began firing once more. The critical stage had been passed for the moment, but Rush knew that sooner or later there would be a clash of some sort, and he knew, too, that when it did come the tough stokers would side with their own companion.
Nothing more of a serious nature occurred in that watch, though the boys kept on the lookout for trouble.
It was in the early morning watch, however, when the ship's company was sleeping, all save those who were on watch at the time, that there came a renewal of the trouble—when the threatened disturbance came to a head.
The boys had arranged that when the back of either was turned to the stoker the other should keep his eyes open. This arrangement they had carried out faithfully until four o'clock in the morning arrived. Day was breaking, but the toilers down in the depths of the stoke hole could not see the coming of the day. They would not have noticed it had they been able to for the reasons that their minds were wholly absorbed with other matters.