earlier in the voyage.

Unfortunately, however, for Murphy's plans, the chief's stateroom was
located in the after part of the house and on the side opposite the
skipper's, and following their brief spat through the speaking-tube,
Terence Reardon had confined himself exclusively to his engine-room
and that portion of the ship along which he must of necessity pass
when going to and from his state-room. He told himself it was the part
of wisdom for one of his ferocious temper to avoid the occasions of
sin. Certainly it would be hard to pass the skipper's state-room
without looking in, particularly since in these warm latitudes the
door would probably be open; for should the skipper be within at the
time, they would peradventure scowl at each other, and he is a fool
indeed who cannot foretell the future when a thousand generations of
natural enemies exchange "the black look." Terence remembered his boy
Johnny, a youth who, according to Mrs. Reardon, should never be a
marine engineer, but the finest lawyer that ever pouched a fat fee.
And there was Mary Agnes and Catherine Bertram. Next year they would
begin taking piano lessons, and in the fullness of time, no matter how
hard the pull, both should go to the state university and acquire the
education made to fit their father's head, but by force of
circumstances denied him. And at the thought Terence looked at his
hard black hands and set himself resolutely to face a life sentence of
rattling ash hoists, roaring furnaces and the soft sucking sounds of
the pistons. Two hundred dollars a month--and the union scale was a
hundred and fifty! Ah, no, he dared not trifle with that job. He must,
at all hazard, avoid friction with the skipper, for what would Mrs.
Reardon say if Cappy Ricks forced him to roll the bones with Mike
Murphy--one flop and high man out? Mr. Reardon could close his eyes
and see Mike Murphy roll out a "stiff," while with trembling hand the