zenges to come along. But what
can we do about it, Bud?"

"There's the _Whist_, Baldy."

"What, her? Send her to sea to-night? We couldn't if we wanted. She only
goes out under orders from the commandant, remember. And the commandant,
he's on leave, visitin' his married daughter somewhere over Christmas."

"And a G.C.M., too, wouldn't it, Baldwin?" put in the man called Bo,
"without orders."

Harty whirled on Bo. "Who the hell gave you a rating to butt in on this?
Orders? To hell with their orders, and to hell with their general
court-martials. Orders, Baldy, when it's lives to be saved? Christ,
Baldy, you haven't forgot, have you? Bowen's on her. Bowen, man, and
remember she's going to--"

Baldwin held up one wide-spread hand palm out. "That's enough, Buddy.
You've said enough. I don't know what the poor old _Whist_ will do once
she finds herself away from the lee of the breakwater t'night, Bud, but
we'll go, and if they're there and we stay afloat, we'll get 'em. And
Bo, I could play this hand all night, but two round blue moons to see
what you got. Hah? King full, eh? The nerve of you! What did y' think I
was only taking one card f'r? There, feast your eyes on that fat black
collection, will yuh? In a row? Sure in a row. Look at 'em--a three-toed
black regiment of 'em. And these other little round red, white, and blue
boys, cash 'em in, will yuh, Bo? And put the money in an envelope for
me?"

"And for me too." Harty had drawn out a roll of bills and laid them on
the table. "I don't know how much is there--count it, you. And if I
don't come 'round again, here's an address--South Boston, yes--where you
can send it. A little nephew of mine, a fine fat little devil who thinks
his uncle's the greatest man in the world. The poor kid, of course,
don't know any different. So long, fellows. All ready, Baldy?"

"All ready, Bud--head away."

Through the streets, past the Navy Yard gate and through the Navy Yard
the two friends tramped silently.

"Won't you need more than the three of us to handle that tug?" asked
Harty.

"Three's plenty, Bud. You and me an' old Pete, we can make out. What's
the use of risking any more, though if we did need 'em, we'd get 'em.
We'd only have to beat up the water-front, and volunteers! They'd come
a-running, Bud, from every joint and dance-hall, enough to run a
battleship--in no time, yes, sir. Why, Bud, even that squash-head of a
piano-player would 'a' come if we'd ast him."

"H-m