have a look."

He ascended, and carefully peeped over the companion hood. Forsythe was
looking down the engine-room hatch, and his voice came clear and
distinct as he anathematized the engineers below.

"Shut off your oil, you drunken mutts," he vociferated. "If the whole
four of you can't keep steam on the steering-gear, shut it off--all of
it, I say. Shut off every burner and get into your bunks till you're
sober."

Then Sampson's deep voice arose from the hatch. "You'll stop talking
like that to me, my lad, before long," he said, "or I'll break some o'
your bones."

"Shut off the oil--every burner," reiterated Forsythe. "We'll drift for
a while."

"Right you are," sang out another voice, which Denman recognized as
Dwyer's. "And here, you blooming crank, take a drink and get into a good
humor."

"Pass it up, then. I need a drink by this time. _But shut off that
oil._"

Denman saw Forsythe reach down and bring up a bottle, from which he took
a deep draught. The electric lights slowly dimmed in the cabin,
indicating the slowing down of the dynamo engine; then they went out.

Denman descended, uneasy in mind, into the half darkness of the cabin.
He knew, from what he had learned of Forsythe, that the first drink
would lead to the second, and the third, and that his example would
influence the rest to further drinking; but he gave none of his fears to
Florrie. He simply bade her to go into her room and lock the door. Then
he went to his own room against the possible advent of Billings at
supper-time.

But there was no supper for any that evening. Long before the time for
it pandemonium raged above; and the loudest, angriest voice was that of
Forsythe, until, toward the last, Sampson's voice rose above it, and, as
a dull thud on the deck came to Denman's ears, he knew that his fist had
silenced it. Evidently the sleeping men had wakened to further
potations; and at last the stumbling feet of some of them approached the
stern. Then again came Sampson's voice.

"Come back here," he roared. "Keep away from that companion, the lot of
you, or I'll give you what I gave Forsythe."

A burst of invective and malediction answered him, and then there were
the sounds of conflict, even the crashing of fists as well as the thuds
on the deck, coming to Denman through the deadlight.

"Forrard wi' you all," continued Sampson between the sounds of impact;
and soon the shuffling of feet indicated a retreat. Denman, who had
o