believed. But August followed, determined to warn him
against Smith. Smith was ahead of him, however, saving to Norman, "Look
out for your pockets--that greasy fellow will rob you."

And Norman, who was nothing if not highly respectable, resolved to
shake off the troublesome "Dutchman" at once. "I don't know what you are
up to now, but at home you are known as a thief. So please let me alone,
will you?" This Norman tried to say in an annihilating way.

The crowd looked for a fight. August said loud enough to be heard, "You
know very well that you lie. I wanted to save you from being a thief,
but you are betting money now that is not yours."

The company, of course, sympathized with the gentleman and against the
machine-oil on the striker's clothes, so that there arose quickly a
murmur, started by Smith, "Put the bully out," and August was "hustled."
It is well that he was not shot.

It was quite time for him to go on watch now; for the loud-ticking
marine-clock over the window of the clerk's office pointed to three
minutes past twelve, and the striker hurried to his post at the
starboard engine, with the bitterness of defeat and the shame of insult
in his heart. He had sacrificed his place, doubtless, and risked much
beside, and all for nothing. The third engineer complained of his
tardiness in not having relieved him three minutes before, and August
went to his duties with a bitter heart. To a man who is persistent, as
August was, defeat of any sort is humiliating.

As for Norman, he bet after this just to show his independence and to
show that the money was his own, as well as in the vain hope of winning
back what he had lost. He bet every cent. Then he lost his watch, and at
half-past one o'clock he went to his state-room, stripped of all loose
valuables, and sweating great drops. And the mud-clerk, who was still in
the office, remarked to himself, with a pleasant chuckle, that it was
good for him; he declared it was; teach the fellow to let monte alone,
and keep his eyes peeled when he traveled. It would so!

The idea was a good one, and he went down to the starboard engine and
told the result of the nice little game to his friend the striker,
drawling it out in a relishful way, how the blamed idiot never stopped
till they'd got his watch, and then looked like as if he'd a notion to
jump into the "drink." But 'twould cure him of meddlin' with monte.
It would so!

He walked away, and August was just reflecting