"The Almighty's not chief engineer of the Hawk, so you needn't worry about that. Get those engines going or I'll string you up at the end of a derrick."
"Guid God, are ye mad, mon!" gasped the engineer.
"Mad or sane, I'll do what I say."
"I tell ye the engine-room's like a steam-laundry," wailed McPhulach. "There isna a pipe that isna squairting steam out of some crack or itha, and it'll take all the cotton-waste in the ship to bind up the leaks. It's a plumber's job, no' an engineer's."
"Well, if you can't do your job, I'll undertake to do mine," said the Captain grimly.
McPhulach emitted a groan, then took from his pocket a short and very rank briar pipe. A look of phlegmatic resignation had come over his face.
"Maybe ye're richt, skipper," he said. "Hae ye got sic a thing as a plug o' tobaccy on ye'r pairson?"
Calamity handed him a pouch of tobacco. McPhulach filled his pipe, and, remarking that he might run short, also put some tobacco loose in his pocket.
"Gin ye hae a match, I'll go below and see what can be done," he said.
The Captain produced a box of vestas. The engineer lit his pipe, and, absent-mindedly dropping the matches into his own pocket, left the bridge.