unging as carelessly as when he went below.
While the skipper was jawing about boats and drifting logs. I asked by
signs, from behind, if I hadn't better knock him on the head and drop
him quietly overboard. The night was slipping by, and we had to go. It
couldn't be put off till next night no more. No. No more. And do you
know why?"

Schomberg made a slight negative sign with his head. This direct appeal
annoyed him, jarred on the induced quietude of a great talker forced
into the part of a listener and sunk in it as a man sinks into slumber.
Mr. Ricardo struck a note of scorn.

"Don't know why? Can't you guess? No? Because the boss had got hold of
the skipper's cash-box by then. See?"

CHAPTER SEVEN

"A common thief!"

Schomberg bit his tongue just too late, and woke up completely as he saw
Ricardo retract his lips in a cat-like grin; but the companion of "plain
Mr. Jones" didn't alter his comfortable, gossiping attitude.

"Garn! What if he did want to see his money back, like any tame
shopkeeper, hash-seller, gin-slinger, or ink-spewer does? Fancy a mud
turtle like you trying to pass an opinion on a gentleman! A gentleman
isn't to be sized up so easily. Even I ain't up to it sometimes. For
instance, that night, all he did was to waggle his finger at me. The
skipper stops his silly chatter, surprised.

"'Eh? What's the matter?' asks he.

"The matter! It was his reprieve--that's what was the matter.

"'O, nothing, nothing,' says my gentleman. 'You are perfectly right. A
log--nothing but a log.'

"Ha, ha! Reprieve, I call it, because if the skipper had gone on with
his silly argument much longer he would have had to be knocked out
of the way. I could hardly hold myself in on account of the precious
minutes. However, his guardian angel put it into his head to shut up and
go back to his bed. I was ramping mad about the lost time."

"'Why didn't you let me give him one on his silly coconut sir?' I asks.

"'No ferocity, no ferocity,' he says, raising his finger at me as calm
as you please.

"You can't tell how a gentleman takes that sort of thing. They don't
lose their temper. It's bad form. You'll never see him lose his
temper--not for anybody to see anyhow. Ferocity ain't good form,
either--that much I've learned by this time, and more, too. I've had
that schooling that you couldn't tell by my face if I meant to rip you
up the next minute--as of course I could do in less than a jiffy. I have
a kn