"Cap'n Wrath jumped.

"'Got yourself in a nice mess, isn't you?' says Cap'n Sammy. 'An' in
these busy times, too, for us poor swilers. Lost your propeller, isn't
you?'

"'No, sir.'

"'Ah-ha!' says Cap'n Sammy. 'Got a weak blade, eh? Got a crack
somewheres in the works, I'll be bound! An' you dassen't use your
propeller in this here slob-ice, eh? Scared o' your for'ard plates,
too, isn't you? An' you wants a tow, doesn't you? You wants me t' take
chances with my blades, eh, an' bruise my poor ol' bows, buckin' this
here ice, t' perk your big yelpin' ship t' open water afore the gale
nips you?'

"Cap'n Wrath cocked his red head.

"'Well,' says Cap'n Sammy, 'know what _I_ wants? I wants a dram o'
rum.'

"Cap'n Wrath laughed. 'Haw, haw, haw!' says he. An' he jerked a thumb
for the ship's boy. Seemed t' think Cap'n Sammy was a ol' wag.

"'We better have that rum in your pretty little cabin,' says Cap'n
Sammy, 'an' have it quick, for the weather don't favor delay. I'll
want more, an' you'll need more, afore we strikes our bargain. Anyhow,
I'm a wonderful hand with a bottle,' says he, 'when it ain't my
bottle.'

"'Haw, haw! Very good, indeed, sir!' says Cap'n Wrath. 'I missed your
wink, sir.'

"They went off then, arm in arm, like ol' cronies. 'A dram o' rum, in
a little mess like this, sir,' says Cap'n Sammy, 'has heartened many a
man afore you.'

* * * * *

"When they come down from the upper deck," Tumm resumed, "Cap'n Sammy
was a bit weak in the knees. Tipsy, sir. Ay--Small Sam Small with
three sheets in the wind. Free rum an' a fair prospect o' gluttin' his
greed had overcome un for once in a way. But grim, sir--an' with
little patches o' red aflare in his dry white cheeks. An' as for Cap'n
Wrath, that poor brass-buttoned Britisher was sputterin' rage like a
Gatlin' gun.

"'A small difference of opinion, Tumm,' says Cap'n Sammy, 'over North
Atlantic towage rates. Nothin' more.'

"'Get off my ship, sir!' says Cap'n Wrath.

"'Cap'n Wrath,' says Cap'n Sammy, 'you better take a thoughtful squint
at your weather-glass.'

"Cap'n Wrath snarled.

"'You'll crumple up, an' you'll sink like scrap-iron,' says Cap'n
Sammy, 'when that black wind comes down. Take the word for it,' says
he, 'of a old skipper that knows the ice from boyhood.'

"Cap'n Wrath turned his back. Never a word from the ol' cock,
ecod!--but a speakin' sight of his blue back.

"'If you works a cracked propel