ag step
of the mate proceed along the bridge from the poop. It was a dim starry
night, and the _Elsinore_, in the calm ocean under the lee of Tierra del
Fuego, was slipping gently and prettily through the water at an eight-
knot clip.

Mr. Pike paused at the for'ard end of the housetop and stood in a
listening attitude. From the main deck below, near Number Two hatch,
across the mumbling of various voices, I could recognize Kid Twist, Nosey
Murphy, and Bert Rhine--the three gangsters. But Steve Roberts, the cow-
boy, was also there, as was Mr. Mellaire, both of whom belonged in the
other watch and should have been turned in; for, at midnight, it would be
their watch on deck. Especially wrong was Mr. Mellaire's presence,
holding social converse with members of the crew--a breach of ship ethics
most grievous.

I have always been cursed with curiosity. Always have I wanted to know;
and, on the _Elsinore_, I have already witnessed many a little scene that
was a clean-cut dramatic gem. So I did not discover myself, but lurked
behind the boat.

Five minutes passed. Ten minutes passed. The men still talked. I was
tantalized by the crying of the penguins, and by the whale, evidently
playful, which came so close that it spouted and splashed a biscuit-toss
away. I saw Mr. Pike's head turn at the sound; he glanced squarely in my
direction, but did not see me. Then he returned to listening to the
mumble of voices from beneath.

Now whether Mulligan Jacobs just happened along, or whether he was
deliberately scouting, I do not know. I tell what occurred. Up-and-down
the side of the 'midship-house is a ladder. And up this ladder Mulligan
Jacobs climbed so noiselessly that I was not aware of his presence until
I heard Mr. Pike snarl:

"What the hell you doin' here?"

Then I saw Mulligan Jacobs in the gloom, within two yards of the mate.

"What's it to you?" Mulligan Jacobs snarled back. The voices below
hushed. I knew every man stood there tense and listening. No; the
philosophers have not yet explained Mulligan Jacobs. There is something
more to him than the last word has said in any book. He stood there in
the darkness, a fragile creature with curvature of the spine, facing
alone the first mate, and he was not afraid.

Mr. Pike cursed him with fearful, unrepeatable words, and again demanded
what he was doing there.

"I left me plug of tobacco here when I was coiling down last," said the
little twisted m