“Why not?”
“Because they know him. Once, when there was a mutiny on one of his boats, he laid out ten coal passers with his ‘dukes.’” Then, waxing confidential, he added: “Take it from me and don’t bother him with no question today, he’s got a fierce grouch.”
“Why?”
“’Cause he got word from Atwood to keep the four guards on board to Duluth. He ain’t got no use for them ginks, and he’s mad.”
During this imparting of the incidents of the night and ship’s gossip Phil and Ted had finished dressing and were on the point of going on deck, when the cookee exclaimed:
“Just wait until I can get back to the galley before you’se come out; if you don’t, I’ll get twigged for staying in here so long;” and quickly the lad departed.
As the boys emerged from their cabin, they gazed about them in surprise. Not a speck of land could they see, and the feeling was a novel one as they realized for the first time the sensation of being out of sight of land.
A stiff breeze kicked up the water, and as they proceeded to the dining-room, showers of spray now and then fell on the deck.
“Why, we’re only two or three feet above the water,” exclaimed Phil, going to the rail.
“Say we only have ‘two or three feet free board,’ you land-lubber,” chuckled his brother. “You didn’t suppose we’d ride high with all that coal aboard, did you?”