Rhine and Kid Twist? or Bombini and
Andy Fay? Yes, and in my heart I know I should have felt better had it
been Isaac Chantz and Arthur Deacon, or Nancy and Sundry Buyers, or
Shorty and Larry.

* * * * *

The steward has just tendered me a respectful bit of advice.

"Next time we chuck'm overboard like Henry, much better we use old iron."

"Getting short of coal?" I asked.

He nodded affirmation. We use a great deal of coal in our cooking, and
when the present supply gives out we shall have to cut through a bulkhead
to get at the cargo.

CHAPTER XLIX

The situation grows tense. There are no more sea-birds, and the
mutineers are starving. Yesterday I talked with Bert Rhine. To-day I
talked with him again, and he will never forget, I am certain, the little
talk we had this morning.

To begin with, last evening, at five o'clock, I heard his voice issuing
from between the slits of the ventilator in the after-wall of the chart-
house. Standing at the corner of the house, quite out of range, I
answered him.

"Getting hungry?" I jeered. "Let me tell you what we are going to have
for dinner. I have just been down and seen the preparations. Now,
listen: first, caviare on toast; then, clam bouillon; and creamed
lobster; and tinned lamb chops with French peas--you know, the peas that
melt in one's mouth; and California asparagus with mayonnaise; and--oh, I
forgot to mention fried potatoes and cold pork and beans; and peach pie;
and coffee, real coffee. Doesn't it make you hungry for your East Side?
And, say, think of the free lunch going to waste right now in a thousand
saloons in good old New York."

I had told him the truth. The dinner I described (principally coming out
of tins and bottles, to be sure) was the dinner we were to eat.

"Cut that," he snarled. "I want to talk business with _you_."

"Right down to brass tacks," I gibed. "Very well, when are you and the
rest of your rats going to turn to?"

"Cut that," he reiterated. "I've got you where 1 want you now. Take it
from me, I'm givin' it straight. I'm not tellin' you how, but I've got
you under my thumb. When I come down on you, you'll crack."

"Hell is full of cocksure rats like you," I retorted; although I never
dreamed how soon he would be writhing in the particular hell preparing
for him.

"Forget it," he sneered back. "I've got you where I want you. I'm just
tellin' you, that's all."

"Pardon me," I replied, "when I te