the
squareheads, and tickling the rascally imagination of the stiffs with
hints of golden loot.

So far my rule as cock of the foc'sle had been unchallenged. All hands
had accepted my will in foc'sle matters willingly enough, and I had
been careful not to hector. As number one man, it was my place to see
that the men stood their "peggy"--that is, they took their regular turn
about at getting the food at meal time, and cleaning up the foc'sle.

It came Boston's peggy day. He didn't like it a bit. He thought
himself too good for such menial tasks, and suggested that Shorty, the
smallest and weakest of the stiffs, be made permanent peggy. I vetoed
this as unfair, and Boston went about the work, but sullenly.

Next day was Blackie's peggy, as he well knew. When we came below at
noon, he made no move to fetch the grub from the galley.

"How about dinner, Blackie?" I demanded.

"Well--how about it?" he replied. "I'm no servant girl! Get your own
grub!"

All hands looked at me, expectantly. This was open defiance, and they
wanted to see what the cock would do about it. There was only one
thing I could do, and I did it gladly.

I took that chesty stiff by the throat, and squeezed until his eyes
popped. Then I carried him out on deck and stuck his head in the
wash-deck tub, to cool his ardor; the whole watch following us as
interested spectators.

"Well, Blackie, how about dinner?" I asked, when I released my grip.

In answer, he backed quickly away from me, spluttering oaths and salt
water. I watched him warily, for his affair with the second mate had
shown him to be a knife wielder, and I had no wish to be stabbed. True
enough, he jerked out his sheath knife.

"Stop that, you fool!" came Boston's voice, from behind me. "Do you
want to crab the whole game?"

Those words had an astonishing effect upon Blackie. His bellicose
attitude vanished abruptly, he stopped cursing, and his knife went back
into its sheath.

"That dinner, Blackie," I insisted.

"Sure--I'll get it," he answered submissively.

But I wasn't satisfied with my victory. Of course, I was confident I
could have knocked him out as handily as Bucko Lynch, himself, but I
knew it was not fear of me, but obedience to Boston's words that caused
Blackie to give in so readily.

Those words bothered me. "Do you want to crab the whole game?" Now
what the deuce did Boston mean? What game were these two worthies up
to? Undoubtedly, it wa