The skipper grasped the weapon eagerly. “The ship is headed due west undher full speed,” Terence explained, “an' the mate, the quarter-master an' the look-out have all received evidence av me affectionate regard. Next!”
“Von Staden. He kicked me and broke my ribs, Terence.”
“Wit' the greatest joy in life, Michael. The skut's busy in the wireless room.”
So they went to the wireless room. Von Staden was taking a message as they entered; at sound of their footsteps he turned carelessly and found himself looking down the muzzle of the captain's automatic.
“Will ye take it peaceably, ye gossoon, or must I brain ye wit' this monkey wrench?” Mr. Reardon queried fiercely.
“And take your hand off that key, you blackguard. No S O S,” Murphy ordered.
The supercargo stared at them impudently. “This,” he said presently, “is one of those inconceivable contingencies.”
“Your early education was neglected, Dutchy. However, don't complain and say I didn't give you warning. Terence!”
“What is it, Michael?”
“All well-regulated ships carry a few sets of handcuffs and leg irons. If you will put your hand in my right hip pocket, Terence, lad, you'll find a pair for present emergencies. They were in my desk and I concluded to bring them along.”