"I weesh I knew what happened to the men," worried Deschaillon in his filed-down accent.
"My quistion ixactly, Frinchy," nodded Hogan emphatically. "Misther Madden says 'Piffle,' but Oi say where are they piffled to? Did they go over in a storm, or die of fever, or run crazy with heat?"
"They didn't starve," declared Mulcher, "for some of th' fellows are in th' cook's galley now eatin'."
Madden lifted his hand for attention, "There's no use speculating on what has happened. It's our job to get dock and tug to the nearest port."
"But suppose—suppose——"
"Suppose what?"
"Suppose th' thing gits arfter us, sir?"
Madden stared, "Thing—what thing?"
The cockney frowned, looked glumly across deck. Galton answered,
"W'y, sir, th' thing that run th' crew hoff the Minnie B an' hoff th' Vulcan. Crews don't 'op hoff in th' hocean for amoosement, sir. Some'n' done hit an' that's sure."