boys," said the shipping-master, cheerily, as he unfolded the
articles on the capstan-head, "answer, and step over to starboard as I
read your names. Ready? Tosser Galvin."

"Here." A man carried his bag across the deck a short distance.

"Bigpig Monahan." Another--as large a man as the mate--answered and
followed.

"Moccasey Gill."

"Good God!" muttered the mate, as this man responded.

"Sinful Peck." An undersized man, with a cultivated blond mustache,
lifted his hat politely to Mr. Jackson, disclosing a smooth, bald head,
and passed over, smiling sweetly. Whatever his character, his name
belied his appearance; for his face was cherubic in its innocence.

"Say," interrupted the mate, angrily, "what kind of a game is this,
anyhow? Are these men sailors?"

"Yes, yes," answered the shipping-master, hurriedly; "you'll find 'em
all right. And, Sinful," he added, as he frowned reprovingly at the
last man named, "don't you get gay till my receipt's signed and I'm
clear of you."

Mr. Jackson wondered, but subsided; and, each name bringing forth a
response, the reader called off: "Seldom Helward, Shiner O'Toole,
Senator Sands, Jump Black, Yampaw Gallagher, Sorry Welch, Yorker
Jimson, General Lannigan, Turkey Twain, Gunner Meagher, Ghost O'Brien,
and Poop-deck Cahill."

Then the astounded Mr. Jackson broke forth profanely. "I've been
shipmates," he declared between oaths, "with freak names of all
nations; but this gang beats me. Say, you," he called,--"you with the
cro'-jack eye there,--what's that name you go by? Who are you?" He
spoke to the large man who had answered to "Bigpig Monahan," and who
suffered from a slight distortion of one eye; but the man, instead of
civilly repeating his name, answered curtly and coolly:

"I'm the man that struck Billy Patterson."

Fully realizing that the mate who hesitates is lost, and earnestly
resolved to rebuke this man as his insolence required, Mr. Jackson had
secured a belaying-pin and almost reached him, when he found himself
looking into the bore of a pistol held by the shipping-master.

"Now, stop this," said the latter, firmly; "stop it right here, Mr.
Jackson. These men are under my care till you've signed my receipt.
After that you can do as you like; but if you touch one of them before
you sign, I'll have you up 'fore the commissioner. And you fellers," he
said over his shoulder, "you keep still and be civil till I'm rid of
you. I've used you well, got your berth