The coon picked up the huge mass of dough and hurled it through the open window. He expected that it would land far out in the water. But it didn’t.

As luck had it, Barney was just passing that way. He came in a line with the window just in time to get that soft, sticky mass full in the side of the head.

The soft dough split around his skull, with such force did it strike him, and stopped his ear, nostrils and eyes. The Celt went down as if struck by a cannonball.

For a second he was unable to realize what had happened. Pomp was for that brief instant aghast.

“Massy Lordy!” he muttered; “I done hit somebody!”

Then he ran to the window and looked out.

When he saw who it was and noted Barney’s comical plight he could not help but roar with laughter.

The Celt scrambled to his feet. His mop was at one end of the deck and his pail of suds at the other.

“Tare an’ ‘ounds!” he roared, as he put up his hands and felt the mass of soft dough, not knowing what it was, “it’s me brains they’ve knocked out av me! Howly murther! It’s kilt I am! It’s kilt I am!”

Then he chanced to uncover one eye and saw Pomp in a paroxysm at the galley window. He glanced down at his hand, which was full of dough.