down a challenge. I stepped back, and my coat was already on the floor
by the time the Swede had a chance to form his words. And his words
showed him also cognizant of the Cockney's ruse.

"'Vast there, Cocky! Ay give you the yob. No need to fight, and get
smashed sick. To-night I got vork--to put the crew by the _Golden
Bough_!"

The Cockney's hostility melted into a satisfied smirk. He called upon
his Maker with many blasphemies while he assured the Swede he was the
very "proper blushin' bloke" for the berth. The crowd straightway lost
all interest in the runnership; they had another sensation to occupy
them. At the Swede's words, a low growl ran around the room, a growl
which swelled into a chorus of imprecations.

The Swede was going to ship the crew for the _Golden Bough_ that night!
That meant he needed sailors. And every man who was in debt to the
Swede, or in any way under his thumb (and I suspect every man Jack of
them was under his thumb in some fashion or other), quaked in his
boots, and thought, "Will the Swede choose me?" For they knew ships,
those men, and they knew the _Golden Bough_. Some of them had sailed
in her.

The Swede grinned jocosely at me. "How you like to ship by the _Golden
Bough_! There ban easy ship, _Ja_! Plenty grub, easy vork, good
mates----"

"Yah-h-h!" One swelling, jeering shout from the whole crowd submerged
the Swede's joking reference.