uous intent.

"Ow, swiggle me, lad, what'll I say to the bloomin' little mate, as
trusted me so?" Tears came again to the bosun's eyes. "The little
mate is goin' to feel terrible hurt--us sneaking ashore and all," he
concluded miserably. "Ow, swiggle me, fill 'em up again!"

Martin gulped over his glass. He was astonished. His cherished and
carefully nurtured conception of the iron-souled men of the sea was
receiving knocks. Here was a sailor, a man with all the ear-marks of a
pugilistic temperament, who wept because the tender feelings of the
mate might have been bruised. He vowed he loved the mate, he and his
shipmates! What a queer mate, thought Martin.

Martin knew all about mates. An ardent perusal of the literature of
the sea, from Captain Marryatt to Captain Kettle, had familiarized him
with their character. They were an iron-fisted, brazen-voiced race,
who swanked and swaggered about the decks and knocked the sailormen
galley-west.

The self-reliant and rather disdainful demeanor of the master-mariners
who occasionally visited Smatt's office had confirmed this
estimate--they had once been mates. Had the boatswain mentioned a fear
of being met on his return to his ship, with a flailing capstan-bar, or
a dish of belaying-pin soup, Martin would have understood. Mates were
hasty men. He could have properly sympathized with the boatswain over
such a prospective fate. He could have given him legal advice as to
his rights. But this mate of the brig _Cohasset_; this mate who
commanded nosegays on natal occasions; this mate who inspired love, and
brought bibulous tears to the eyes of this toping giant!

But another surprise was coming to Martin, one that touched him
intimately. The boatswain slouched over the bar, deep descended into
the slough of despond. Martin wished to renew the interesting
conversation, but hesitated how to begin. Funny chap, this sailor,
rather soft and chicken-hearted.

The boatswain muttered to himself. He was evidently delving into the
clouded realm of memory. Martin caught disconnected words:

"Milly--so innercent. Swiggle me--brown devils-----"

Suddenly the boatswain straightened up and exploded a tremendous oath.

"It was them blighted brown devils!" he swore. "What chance 'as a poor
'unchback against them blasted Japs? They get 'im in 'Onolulu, and,
swiggle me stiff, they get 'im in 'Frisco. It was that blasted shark,
Ichi! It was Ichi, says I, as took Lit