rs of unbroken sleep Blake awakened to find
his shoulder being prodded and shaken by the pale-eyed fourth engineer.
The stowaway's tired body, during that sleep, had soaked in renewed
strength as a squeezed sponge soaks up water. He could afford to blink
with impassive eyes up at the troubled face of the young man wearing
the oil-stained cap.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, awakening to a luxurious comprehension of
where he was and what he had escaped. Then he sat up in the narrow
berth, for it began to dawn on him that the engines of the _Trunella_
were not in motion. "Why are n't we under way?"

"They 're having trouble up there, with the _Commandante_. We can't
get off inside of an hour--and anything's likely to happen in that
time. That's why I 've got to get you out of here!"

"Where 'll you get me?" asked Blake. He was on his feet by this time,
arraying himself in his wet and ragged clothing.

"That's what I 've been talking over with the Chief," began the young
engineer. Blake wheeled about and fixed him with his eye.

"Did you let your Chief in on this?" he demanded, and he found it hard
to keep his anger in check.

"I had to let him in on it," complained the other. "If it came to a
hue up or a searching party through here, they 'd spot you first thing.
You 're not a passenger; you 're not signed; you're not anything!"

"Well, supposing I 'm not?"

"Then they 'd haul you back and give you a half year in that
_Lazaretto_ o' theirs!"

"Well, what do I have to do to keep from being hauled back?"

"You 'll have to be one o' the workin' crew, until we get off. The
Chief says that, and I think he's right!"

A vague foreboding filled Blake's soul. He had imagined that the
ignominy and agony of physical labor was a thing of the past with him.
And he was still sore in every sinew and muscle of his huge body.

"You don't mean stoke-hole work?" he demanded.

The fourth engineer continued to look worried.

"You don't happen to know anything about machinery, do you?" he began.

"Of course I do," retorted Blake, thinking gratefully of his early days
as a steamfitter.

"Then why could n't I put you in a cap and jumper and work you in as
one of the greasers?"

"What do you mean by greasers?"

"That's an oiler in the engine-room. It--it may not be the coolest
place on earth, in this latitude, but it sure beats the stoke-hole!"

And it was in this way, thirty minutes later, that Blake became a
gre