e. There was death in it. He spoke to Cockney in a voice of cold
fury. "You lie!" he cried. "Say you lie!"

Cockney was a big man, and husky. He cursed, and struggled. But he
was a child in the grasp of that white-faced giant towering over him.
The hands I had seen gripping the rail a moment before, now gripped
Cockney's wrists in the same terrible clutch. They squeezed, as though
to crush the very bones. Cockney squirmed, and whimpered, then he
broke down, and screamed in agony.

"Ow, Gaw' blimme, let hup! Hi never meant northin'! A lie-- Ow,
yuss--a lie! She's a proper lydy-- Hi never 'eard the hother-- Gaw'
strike me blind!"

The man with the scar cast the fellow contemptuously away; and Cockney
lost no time in putting the distance of the room between them. The big
man turned on the Swede, and his voice was sharp and commanding.

"Swede, does the _Golden Bough_ sail to-morrow?"

"_Ja_, with da flood," the Swede answered.

"Then I ship in her," declared the man. "I ship in the _Golden Bough_,
Swede!"

It was the spark needed to fire my own resolution. What another dared,
I would dare. I thumped the bar with my fist and sang out valorously,
"I ship in her too, Swede!"

The Swede's needles stopped flashing in and out of the gray yarn. He
regarded us, one after the other, with his baby stare. Then he said to
the big man, "Vat if your frients ship by her?"

"I have no friends," was the curt answer.

The Swede leaned back on his stool, and his big belly quivered with his
wheezy laughter. "By Yimminy, Ay tank da _Golden Bough_ haf vun lively
voyage!" he exclaimed.

CHAPTER IV

We signed articles in the Swede's house, almost within the hour. A
little man with a pimply, bulbous nose appeared in the house; he
carried in his person the authority of Shipping Commissioner and in his
hand the articles of the _Golden Bough_. After the careless fashion of
the day and port we signed on without further ado for a voyage to Hong
Kong and beyond--sitting at a table in the back room, and cementing the
contract with a drink around.

The Shipping Commissioner made the usual pretense of reading the
articles. Then he squinted up at us.

"What's yer John Henry's?" says he.

My big shipmate mused a moment. He stroked the scar on his forehead--a
habit he had when thinking. He smiled.

"My name is Newman," he made answer. "It is a good name."

He took the pen from the Shipping Commissioner's