"Listen," said McTee. "What I've got to say is harder for me to do than anything I've ever done in my life. So don't make me repeat anything. Harrigan, I've tried to beat you by fair means or foul ever since we met—ever since you saved my hide in the Ivilei district of Honolulu. I've tried to get you down, and I've failed. I fought you"—here he ground his teeth in agony—"and you beat me."
"It was the bucking of the deck that beat you," put in Harrigan.
"Shut up till I'm through or I'll wring your neck and break your back! I've failed to down you, Harrigan. You beat me on the Mary Rogers. You made a fool of me on the island. And on the Heron—"
He paused again, breathing hard.
"On the Heron, it was you who brought us food and water when we were dying. And afterward, when Henshaw died, I jumped out before the mutineers and took command of them because I thought I could win back in Kate's mind any ground which I'd lost before. I paraded the deck before her eyes; I gave commands; I was the man of the hour; I was driving the Heron to the shore in spite of the fire."
"You were," admitted Harrigan sadly. "It was a great work you did,
McTee. It was that which won her—"
"But even when I was in command, you proved yourself the better man,
Harrigan."
The Irishman leaned back against the wall, gasping, weak with astonishment.
McTee went on: "I paraded the deck; I made a play to make her admire me, and for a while I succeeded, until the time came when you were carried up to the deck too weak to keep the men at work in the fireroom. Ah, Harrigan, that was a great moment to me. I said to Kate: 'Harrigan has done well, but of course he can't control men—his mind is too simple.'"
"Did you say that?" murmured Harrigan, and hatred made his voice soft, almost reverent.