“Bring me the bum!”
“Which one?” Mr. Daniels queried.
“The German bum, av coorse,” Terence retorted waspishly.
“But all these bums are Germans—”
“Not that kind av a bum!” howled Terence. “I mean the bum in the boat.”
Thus enlightened, Sam brought a bomb from the boat and handed it to the engineer. In the interim Mike Murphy had polished off his man to his entire satisfaction and joined Terence at the scuttle, while one of the horse wranglers, a cool individual and a firm believer in safety first, collected the weapons from the fallen.
Mike Murphy approached the scuttle and bawled down it to the amazed and puzzled crew below. As a linguist Mike was no great shakes, particularly when called upon to juggle German; but he was a resolute fellow and not afraid to do his best at all times. Consequently his hail took the form of “Hey! Landsmann!”
Something told Terence Reardon that Michael was through; so he added his mite to the store and bellowed:
“Spreckels die deutsch, ye blackguards?”
Then both sat back to await developments. Presently a voice at the foot of the companion said: