r in the
combing of his lovely daughter's lovely hair. . . . She's broken out!
Give her the wheel aft there! Jib and fore-topsail halyards! Full and
by, there! A good full! . . . Ah, she takes it like the beauty fairy
boat that she is upon the sea. . . I'll just lift that--sure, the limit.
Blackey, when you pay as much to see my cards as I'm going to pay to see
yours, you're going to see some cards, believe me!"

And so the farrago of unrelated memories continued to rise vocal on
Skipper's lips to the heave of his body and the beat of his arms, while
Jerry, crouched against the side of the bunk mourned and mourned his
grief and inability to be of help. All that was occurring was beyond
him. He knew no more of poker hands than did he know of getting ships
under way, of clearing up surface car wrecks in New York, or of combing
the long yellow hair of a loved daughter in a Harlem flat.

"Both dead," Skipper said in a change of delirium. He said it quietly,
as if announcing the time of day, then wailed: "But, oh, the bonnie,
bonnie braids of all the golden hair of her!"

He lay motionlessly for a space and sobbed out a breaking heart. This
was Jerry's chance. He crept inside the arm that tossed, snuggled
against Skipper's side, laid his head on Skipper's shoulder, his cool
nose barely touching Skipper's cheek, and felt the arm curl about him and
press him closer. The hand bent from the wrist and caressed him
protectingly, and the warm contact of his velvet body put a change in
Skipper's sick dreams, for he began to mutter in cold and bitter
ominousness: "Any nigger that as much as bats an eye at that puppy. . ."

CHAPTER VIII

When, in half an hour, Van Horn's sweat culminated in profusion, it
marked the breaking of the malarial attack. Great physical relief was
his, and the last mists of delirium ebbed from his brain. But he was
left limply weak, and, after tossing off the blankets and recognizing
Jerry, he fell into a refreshing natural sleep.

Not till two hours later did he awake and start to go on deck. Half-way
up the companion, he deposited Jerry on deck and went back to the
stateroom for a forgotten bottle of quinine. But he did not immediately
return to Jerry. The long drawer under Borckman's bunk caught his eye.
The wooden button that held it shut was gone, and it was far out and
hanging at an angle that jammed it and prevented it from falling to the
floor. The matter was serious. The