"Come, come," Matt said soothingly, "As Skinner says, we can only wait
and pray--"

"All right. You two do the praying. I'm going to sit here and cuss."

"Well, we'll hope for the best, Mr. Ricks. No more crying over spilled
milk now. I'll figure out when the _Narcissus_ is due at Pernambuco
and cable Mike to let his crew go. And you know, sir, even if he
should not receive our cablegram, we have still one hope left. True,
it is a forlorn one, but it's worth a small bet. The crew of the
_Narcissus_ is not all German. There are--"

"Two pro-German Irishmen, two disinterested Native Son Chinamen and a
little runt of a Cockney steward," Cappy sneered. "And she carries a
crew of forty, all told. Matt, those odds are too long for any bet of
mine. Besides, Reardon and Murphy hate each other. A house divided
against itself, you know--"

"They might bang each other all over the main deck," Matt replied
musingly, "but I'll bet they'll fight side by side for the ship. Of
course we haven't known Terence Reardon very long; he may be a bad one
after all; but Mike Murphy will go far. He's as cunning as a pet fox,
and he may make up in strategy what he lacks in numbers."

"The Irish are so filled with blarney--" Skinner began, but Cappy cut
him short with a terrible look.

"There goes some more of our silver lining," he rasped. "Skinner, what
are you? A kill-joy? Now, just for that, I'm going to agree with Matt.
A man has got to believe something in this world or go crazy, and I