gaining rapidly in strength and regularity; sleep seemed to act upon
Harrigan as food acts upon a starved man. At times he smiled, and McTee
could guess at the dream which caused it. He was dreaming of killing
McTee, and McTee sat by and understood, and smiled with deep content.
He, also, was tasting his thoughts of the battle-to-be when, without
any warning rap, the door swung open and the burly form of Bos'n
Masters appeared.

"The first mate--" he began.

"Did you knock?"

"I've got no time to waste, the first mate--"

McTee rose. In the frank, bold eyes of the bos'n he read the open
revolt, and understood. He had been beaten in open battle; his crew
felt that they were liberated by the victory of their champion.

"Who told you to enter without knocking?" he broke
in.

"I don't need telling," said the dauntless bos'n. "The first mate's
drunk an'--"

The heavy fist of McTee landed on Masters's mouth and hurled him in a
heap into the corner of the cabin. The captain seized him by the nape
of the neck and jerked him back to his feet, blinking and gasping,
thoroughly subdued.

"Get out and come in as you should."