ved by the black servants to those that
drank it, though all quickly shifted back to Scotch and soda, pickling
their food as they ate it, ere it went into their calcined, pickled
stomachs.

Over their coffee, they heard the rumble of an anchor-chain through a
hawse-pipe, tokening the arrival of a vessel.

"It's David Grief," Peter Gee remarked.

"How do you know?" Deacon demanded truculently, and then went on to deny
the half-caste's knowledge. "You chaps put on a lot of side over a new
chum. I've done some sailing myself, and this naming a craft when
its sail is only a blur, or naming a man by the sound of his
anchor--it's--it's unadulterated poppycock."

Peter Gee was engaged in lighting a cigarette, and did not answer.

"Some of the niggers do amazing things that way," McMurtrey interposed
tactfully.

As with the others, this conduct of their visitor jarred on the manager.
From the moment of Peter Gee's arrival that afternoon Deacon had
manifested a tendency to pick on him. He had disputed his statements and
been generally rude.

"Maybe it's because Peter's got Chink blood in him," had been Andrews'
hypothesis. "Deacon's Australian, you know, and they're daffy down there
on colour."

"I fancy that's it," McMurtrey had agreed. "But we can't permit any
bullying, especially of a man like Peter Gee, who's whiter than most
white men."

In this the manager had been in nowise wrong. Peter Gee was that rare
creature, a good as well as clever Eurasian. In fact, it was the
stolid integrity of the Chinese blood that toned the recklessness and
licentiousness of the English blood which had run in his father's veins.
Also, he was better educated than any man there, spoke better English
as well as several other tongues, and knew and lived more of their own
ideals of gentlemanness than they did themselves. And, finally, he was
a gentle soul. Violence he deprecated, though he had killed men in his
time. Turbulence he abhorred.

He always avoided it as he would the plague.

Captain Stapler stepped in to help McMurtrey:

"I remember, when I changed schooners and came into Altman, the niggers
knew right off the bat it was me. I wasn't expected, either, much less
to be in another craft. They told the trader it was me. He used the
glasses, and wouldn't believe them. But they did know. Told me afterward
they could see it sticking out all over the schooner that I was running
her."

Deacon ignored him, and returned to the a