"Can it be possible?" Murphy queried in amazement. "Upon my word,
friend pirate, I had flattered myself I'd tucked you away for a couple
of days at least."

"The excellent Mr. Henckel tells me I was out for ten minutes from
that solar-plexus blow you landed," Mr. von Staden replied in tones of
mingled admiration and friendliness. "And of course you cannot see how
sore my ribs feel. I take it rather ill of you to have kicked me."

"Kicked you! I wish I'd killed you! And, speaking of kicks, somebody
certainly kicked me. Who was it?"

"Upon recovering consciousness," the supercargo replied with some
embarrassment, "I was overcome with fury. You were lying on the floor
of your stateroom, where Mr. Schultz and Mr. Henckel had hurriedly
tossed you--so I came in and kicked you."

"I never kicked you in the face," Murphy complained.

"No, but you flattened my nose with your code book."

"Well, I'll admit a good smack on the nose does make a man mad. But
you shot me in the shoulder. By the way, do your lungs hurt when you
breathe, Dutchy?"

"No. Do yours?"

"A slight tickle. I think you caved in my super-structure. Who jumped
on me from the top of the house?"