“Use it,” said Richter.
Steam was gotten up on the spare, double-end Scotch boiler; the starboard boiler was allowed to cool; Fergerson, despite the tanker’s rolling motion, succeeded in satisfying Ezra Morgan by keeping up the three-quarter speed set by the skipper.
Richter sobered when the last of the trade-gin was gone; the Seriphus was between Guam and ’Frisco; the heavy seas encountered were the afterkick of the simoon.
Rolling drunkenly, from habit, the chief went on the bridge and asked about getting back his comfortable cabin aft. Ezra Morgan gave him no satisfaction.
“Better stay near your boilers,” advised the captain. “Everything’s gone to hell, sir, since you changed from kummel to gin!”
“Are not th’ injured seamen well yet?”
“Th’ wireless chap’s doing all right—but th’ engineer of that Japanese freighter is hurt internally. You can’t have that cabin, this side of San Francisco.”
“What were two Americans doing in that cheap service?”
Ezra Morgan glanced sharply at Richter.
“Everybody isn’t money mad—like you. There’s many a good engineer, and mate, too, in th’ Japanese Merchant Marine. Nippon can teach us a thing or two—particularly about keeping Scotch boilers up to th’ steaming point.”