handed him.

"I want to examine this vessel from bilge to truck," Matt answered.
"I'll begin with a look at the winches."

As he had surmised, the winches had been housed over and fairly buried
in grease when the ship laid up; hence they were in absolutely perfect
condition. The engines, too, had received the best of care, as nearly
as Matt could judge from a cursory view. Her cargo space was littered
up with a number of grain chutes, which would have to come out; and
her boats, which had been stored in the empty hold aft, away from the
weather, were in tiptop shape. She had a spare anchor, plenty of chain,
wire cable and Manila lines, though these latter would doubtless have to
be renewed in their entirety, owing to deterioration from age.

Her crew quarters were commodious and ample, and the officers' quarters
all that could be desired; her galley equipment was complete, even to
a small auxiliary ice plant. What she needed was cleaning, painting and
scraping, and lots of it, also the riggers would be a few days on her
standing rigging; but, so far as Matt could discern, that was all. From
the watchman he learned that one Terence Reardon had been her chief
engineer in the days when the Oriental Steamship Company first owned
her.

From the Narcissus, Matt Peasley returned to the city and went at
once to the office of the Marine Engineers' Association, where he made
inquiry for Terence Reardon. It appeared that Terence was chief of the
Arab, loading grain at Port Costa; so to Port Costa Matt Peasley went
to interview him. He found Reardon on deck, enjoying a short pipe and a
breath of cool air, and introduced himself.

"I understand you were the chief of the Narcissus at one time, Mr.
Reardon," Matt began abruptly. "I understand, also, that under your
coaxing you used to get ten miles out of her loaded."

Parenthetically it may be stated that Matt Peasley had never heard
anything of the sort; but he knew the weaknesses of chief engineers and
decided to try a shot in the dark, hoping, by the grace of the devil and
the luck of a sailor, to score a bull's-eye. He succeeded at least in
ringing the bell.

"Coax, is it?" murmured Terence Reardon in his deep Kerry brogue.
"Faith, thin, the Narcissus niver laid eye on the day she could do nine
an' a half wit' the kindliest av treatment. Wirrah, but 'tis herself was
the glutton for coal. Sure, whin I'd hand in me report to ould Webb, and
he'd see where she'd averaged fort