and right, right and left
into Ole Peterson's dish face. "Watch the skipper--our skipper, I mean.
Regular young human pile-driver." He raised his voice and called to Matt
Peasley. "He's rocking on his legs now, sir; but keep away from those
arms. He's dangerous and you're givin' him fifty pounds the best of it
in the weights. Try the short ribs with your left and feel for his chin
with the right, sir. Very nicely done, sir! Now--once more!"

Mr. Murphy nodded politely to the American consul.

"Excuse me," he said. "The bigger they are the harder they fall, and
the Retriever's deck ain't no nice place to bump a man's head. I'll just
skip round in back and catch him in my arms."

Which being done, Mr. Murphy laid All Hands And Feet gently on deck,
walked to the scuttle butt, procured a dipperful of water and threw it
into the gory, battered face. Matt Peasley had simply walked round him
and, with the advantage of a superior reach, had systematically cut
Captain Ole Peterson to strings and ribbons.

He held up the blood-soaked gloves for Mr. Murphy to untie the strings,
the while he sniffed a little afternoon breeze that had just sprung up,
blowing straight for the open sea.

"When he comes to, Mr. Murphy," he ordered calmly, "escort him to your
old room. Have one of the men stow his dunnage there also; and tell him
if he shows his nose on deck until I give him permission, he shall have
another taste of the same. Mr. Consul, I should be highly honored if you
would step into my cabin and hoist one to our own dear native land."

"With pleasure," the consul replied. "Though I cannot, in my capacity as
a citizen of the United States, endorse your--er--mutiny, nevertheless,
as a United States consul at Cape Town I shall take pleasure in
certifying to the fact that the fallen gladiator was the aggressor,
that he did not present his credentials, and that you had no official
knowledge of his identity."

"I wish you would make an affidavit to that effect, under the seal of
the Consulate, and mail it to me at Hoquiam, Washington, U. S. A.,"
Matt pleaded, as they reached his cabin. He reached into poor old Cap'n
Noah's little private locker. "I've a suspicion, sir, I'm going to need
your affidavit very badly."

"I shall do so, Mr. Peasley. May I inquire what you purpose doing with
Captain Peterson?"

"Captain Peasley--if you please, Mr. Consul." Matt looked up and
grinned. "I think," he continued, as he inserted the corkscr