were thrust aside violently, and the short,
squat man with clipped hair stood between them, glowering, one hand
gripped into a fist, and the other holding the swaying fabric.

"What's this of me and the _Nuestra_?" he roared. His moustaches
puffed out at each word, and his jaw lifted to a pugnacious angle
as he threw back his head. He screwed up his eyes into a sort of
malevolent grin which did not extend below the bridge of his nose.

Dinshaw blinked at him for a minute, taken aback by the picture of
this man, who seemed about to charge into the room after him.

"You said you'd go," said Dinshaw.

"You lay off this blasted chin-chin about me and my schooner!"
raged Jarrow. "I've heard enough of it!"

"But I'm in soundin's, cap'n. We're bound out in the _Nuestra_ for
the island! We're goin----"

"Git out!" snapped Jarrow, and clumping out into the room, lifted a
hairy fist at the old man. But Dinshaw held his ground, and as
Vanderzee cried out to take care, the captain merely pushed the old
man back with a snort of rage.

"But it's all settled, I tell ye!" insisted Dinshaw. "Hard and
fast. We're to go----"

"Then go!" snarled Jarrow. "Go jump off the Mole, and give me some
rest and quiet. I got other things to 'tend to. How'm I to git a
charter for the _Nuestra_, with you and yer slack jaw runnin' wild
up and down the waterfront tellin' all hands and the ship's cook
I'm goin' to yer blasted island in my schooner? Hop in the river,
but keep clear o' me and mine! Won't have it from ye!"

"Der sun his het in," said Vanderzee, with a significant nod
toward Dinshaw. He wanted to avoid trouble. "He iss crassy."

The tall, thin man now parted the curtains and came out, his long
legs moving stiffly across the floor. He glanced at Dinshaw with a
sneering, wicked eye and sniffed contemptuously. He gave the
twisted straw hat to Jarrow, who pulled it open and clamped it over
his clipped skull. They both turned to the bar.

"Ye said ye'd go," piped Dinshaw. "Ye allus said ye'd take me, an'
now's the chance. I ain't goin' to stay with Prayerful Jones no
more. I'm goin to pack my dunnage an' take it aboard the
_Nuestra_."

"There ye go!" cried Jarrow, swinging toward him, and extending a
brawny arm wrathfully. "Ye make fast to me like a devilfish! That's
the tune ye've been singin' for years! '_Said ye'd go!_' Same old
story! Why, I----"

He paused, as if at a loss for words to express his disgust, and
pulled a cigar