Johnny a place in his office; also, should the owners offer anything
as compensation for the loss of her husband, she was to accept it,
for, as God was his judge, she would be entitled to it! This last
sentence Terence underscored for emphasis; that was as close as he
came to saying that if he died it would be in defense of his owner's
interest. Then he commended her to the comfort of her religion and
subscribed himself: "Your loving and devoted husband, Terence P.
Reardon, Chief Engineer S.S. _Narcissus_."

Having set his small affairs in order against a hasty exit from this
vale of hatreds, Mr. Reardon, in unconscious imitation of all the
condemned men who had preceded him on the voyage across the Styx,
repaired to the dining saloon and partook of a hearty meal. He
realized he had undertaken a contract that would require the
employment of weapons more formidable than his hard fists, and
devoutly he wished that, like the fairy queen, he had but to breathe
on them to metamorphose them into pig iron. He pictured the slaughter
aboard the _Narcissus_ when he should wade into the conflict. Finally
he made up his mind that, in lieu of an iron hand or two, he would use
his favorite monkey wrench, for he had no firearms whatsoever;
although, had somebody presented him with a one-man machine gun with
full directions for using, Mr Reardon would have recoiled in horror
from it. Firearms were highly dangerous. They killed so many people!

He left the table long before the others had finished. There was no
one on deck as he emerged from the dining saloon, so he walked
leisurely round past the captain's cabin, whistling the "Cruiskeen
Lawn" to let Mike Murphy know who was coming. Evidently Michael
assimilated the hint, for there was an envelope on the little window
sill as Terence hove abreast of it. He snatched it swiftly away and