the confidence of the ship's masters, having
been assigned to do their secret dirty work. It was all I could do to
keep from flying at his throat, when he came within reach of my arms.

He murmured some hypocritical words as he stepped into my place. He
was a good dissembler.

"My heye, but poor 'Oly Joe caught it," says he. "They bloomin' near
skinned 'im alive. They 'arve Newman in the lazaret. Blimme, Shreve,
we got to do somethink abaht it!"

The answer he got was a grunt. My mind and eyes were on the officers.
I started forward, saying to myself, "I must not lose my temper."

CHAPTER XVIII

"Not so fast, my lad. I think I should like to look you over."

These were the words with which Captain Swope arrested my progress. He
had permitted me to almost reach the ladder leading to the main deck,
before he hailed. The cat and the mouse; aye, that was it! He must play
with his prey. Such teasing gave him pleasure.

I stopped, of course, and turned, and faced him. Never did Captain Swope
remind me more of a cat than that instant, when I met his glittering,
pitiless eyes, and saw his smiling, red-lipped mouth, and listened to his
soft, purring voice. I was his mouse, helpless, trapped. God's truth, I
felt like one!

He looked me over slowly, from head to foot. The mate walked around
behind me, and I knew the attack would come from that direction. Swope
knew that I knew it; that is why he held my eyes to the front with his
deliberate and insulting inspection. The cat and the mouse--he would
enjoy my nervousness.

I think I disappointed him, for I tried hard to appear unconcerned. So,
finally, he spoke again.

"What is your name?"

"Jack S-hreve, sir," I answered.

"Shreve? Now, what signboard did you rob? Shreve is a good name, too
good for a foc'sle rat. Did you come by it honestly? Did you have a
father by that name? I dare say not. A gutter product would not know
his father, _eh_, my lad?"

There was no mistaking the deliberate intent of the insult, or its foul
meaning. Despite my efforts, I felt the blood in my cheeks, and my
fingers clenched of their own accord. I thought how white was Yankee
Swope's neck, and how near, and how easily I could reach out and choke
the vile words in his throat. I very nearly lost my temper--and with it,
my life, and, I think, the other two lives, which I actually valued above
my own.

The thing which saved me was the glimpse of a cold, s