efs--and lay close to the forward funnel, with the
whole thirteen, Jenkins and all, looking down at him. But Jenkins was
not speaking. Forsythe, searching Denman's pockets, was doing all that
the occasion required.

CHAPTER XVII

When Sampson had entered the forecastle after his rescue by Denman, he
found a few of his mates in their bunks, the rest sitting around in
disconsolate postures, some holding their aching heads, others looking
indifferently at him with bleary eyes. The apartment, long and
triangular in shape, was dimly lighted by four deadlights, two each
side, and for a moment Sampson could not distinguish one from another.

"Where's my bag?" he demanded, generally. "I want dry clothes."

He groped his way to the bunk he had occupied, found his clothes bag,
and drew out a complete change of garments.

"Who's got a knife?" was his next request; and, as no one answered, he
repeated the demand in a louder voice.

"What d'you want of a knife?" asked Forsythe, with a slight snarl.

"To cut your throat, you hang-dog scoundrel," said Sampson, irately.
"Forsythe, you speak kindly and gently to me while we're together, or
I'll break some o' your small bones. Who's got a knife?"

"Here's one, Sampson," said Hawkes, offering one of the square-bladed
jackknives used in the navy.

"All right, Hawkes. Now, will you stand up and rip these wet duds off
me? I can't get 'em off with the darbies in the way."

Hawkes stood up and obeyed him. Soon the dripping garments fell away,
and Sampson rubbed himself dry with a towel, while Hawkes sleepily
turned in.

"What kept you, and what happened?" asked Kelly. "Did he douse you with
a bucket o' water?"

Sampson did not answer at once--not until he had slashed the side seams
of a whole new suit, and crawled into it. Then, as he began fastening it
on with buttons and strings, he said, coldly:

"Worse than that. He's made me his friend."

"His friend?" queried two or three.

"His friend," repeated Sampson. "Not exactly while he has me locked
up," he added; "but if I ever get out again--that's all. And his friend
in some ways while I'm here. D'you hear that, Forsythe?"

Forsythe did not answer, and Sampson went on: "And not only his friend,
but the woman's too. Hear that, Forsythe?"

Forsythe refused to answer.

"That's right, and proper," went on Sampson, as he fastened the last
button. "Hide your head and saw wood, you snake-eyed imitation of a
man."

"What's u