nd his crowd are full of rag-time junk, and one phrase that has
caught the fancy of all hands, and which they roar out at all times, is:
"_It's a bear_! _ It's a bear_! _ It's a bear_!" This morning Nancy,
evidently very strongly urged, gave a doleful rendering of _Flying
Cloud_. Yes, and in the second dog-watch last evening our three topaz-
eyed dreamers sang some folk-song strangely sweet and sad.

And this is mutiny! As I write I can scarcely believe it. Yet I know
Mr. Pike keeps the watch over my head. I hear the shrill laughter of the
steward and Louis over some ancient Chinese joke. Wada and the
sail-makers, in the pantry, are, I know, talking Japanese politics. And
from across the cabin, along the narrow halls, I can hear Margaret softly
humming as she goes to bed.

But all doubts vanish at the stroke of eight bells, when I go on deck to
relieve Mr. Pike, who lingers a moment for a "gain," as he calls it.

"Say," he said confidentially, "you and I can clean out the whole gang.
All we got to do is sneak for'ard and turn loose. As soon as we begin to
shoot up, half of 'em'll bolt aft--lobsters like Nancy, an' Sundry
Buyers, an' Jacobsen, an' Bob, an' Shorty, an' them three castaways, for
instance. An' while they're doin' that, an' our bunch on the poop is
takin' 'em in, you an' me can make a pretty big hole in them that's left.
What d'ye say?"

I hesitated, thinking of Margaret.

"Why, say," he urged, "once I jumped into that fo'c's'le, at close range,
I'd start right in, blim-blam-blim, fast as you could wink, nailing them
gangsters, an' Bombini, an' the Sheeny, an' Deacon, an' the Cockney, an'
Mulligan Jacobs, an' . . . an' . . . Waltham."

"That would be mine," I smiled. "You've only eight shots in your Colt."

Mr. Pike considered a moment, and revised his list. "All right," he
agreed, "I guess I'll have to let Jacobs go. What d'ye say? Are you
game?"

Still I hesitated, but before I could speak he anticipated me and
returned to his fidelity.

"No, you can't do it, Mr. Pathurst. If by any luck they got the both of
us . . . No; we'll just stay aft and sit tight until they're starved to
it . . . But where they get their tucker gets me. For'ard she's as bare
as a bone, as any decent ship ought to be, and yet look at 'em, rolling
hog fat. And by rights they ought to a-quit eatin' a week ago."

CHAPTER XLIV

Yes, it is certainly mutiny. Collecting water from the leaders of the
ch