not resent their addresses to him, though he did not
linger and went out on the open deck where more of the favoured gods
reclined in steamer-chairs. Still no Kwaque or Steward. Another flight
of narrow, steep stairs invited, and he came out on the boat-deck. Here,
under the wide awnings, were many more of the gods--many times more than
he had that far seen in his life.

The for'ard end of the boat-deck terminated in the bridge, which, instead
of being raised above it, was part of it. Trotting around the
wheel-house to the shady lee-side of it, he came upon his fate; for be it
known that Captain Duncan possessed on board in addition to two
fox-terriers, a big Persian cat, and that cat possessed a litter of
kittens. Her chosen nursery was the wheel-house, and Captain Duncan had
humoured her, giving her a box for her kittens and threatening the
quartermasters with all manner of dire fates did they so much as step on
one of the kittens.

But Michael knew nothing of this. And the big Persian knew of his
existence before he did of hers. In fact, the first he knew was when she
launched herself upon him out of the open wheel-house doorway. Even as
he glimpsed this abrupt danger, and before he could know what it was, he
leaped sideways and saved himself. From his point of view, the assault
was unprovoked. He was staring at her with bristling hair, recognizing
her for what she was, a cat, when she sprang again, her tail the size of
a large man's arm, all claws and spitting fury and vindictiveness.

This was too much for a self-respecting Irish terrier. His wrath was
immediate with her second leap, and he sprang to the side to avoid her
claws, and in from the side to meet her, his jaws clamping together on
her spinal column with a jerk while she was still in mid-air. The next
moment she lay sprawling and struggling on the deck with a broken back.

But for Michael this was only the beginning. A shrill yelling, rather
than yelping, of more enemies made him whirl half about, but not quick
enough. Struck in flank by two full-grown fox-terriers, he was slashed
and rolled on the deck. The two, by the way, had long before made their
first appearance on the _Makambo_ as little puppies in Dag Daughtry's
coat pockets--Daughtry, in his usual fashion, having appropriated them
ashore in Sydney and sold them to Captain Duncan for a guinea apiece.

By this time, scrambling to his feet, Michael was really angry. In
truth, it