t sneak
off to his cubby-hole and suck his pencil, and--and how is it Stevenson
has it?--the 'agony of composition,' you remember. Can you imagine the
fellow, Ridgeway, bundling down here with the fever on him--"

"About the Chinaman," I broke in. "I think you said something about a
Chinaman?"

"Yes. The cook, he must have been. I gather he wasn't the master's
pick, by the reading-matter here. Probably clapped on to him by the
owners--shifted from one of their others at the last moment; a queer
trick. Listen." He picked up the book and, running over the pages with
a selective thumb, read:

"'_August second_. First part, moderate southwesterly breeze--' and so
forth--er--but here he comes to it:

"'Anything can happen to a man at sea, even a funeral. In special to a
Chinyman, who is of no account to social welfare, being a barbarian as
I look at it.'

"Something of a philosopher, you see. And did you get the reserve in
that 'even a funeral?' An artist, I tell you. But wait; let me catch
him a bit wilder. Here:

"'I'll get that mustard-colored ---- [This is back a couple of days.]
Never can hear the ---- coming, in them carpet slippers. Turned round
and found him standing right to my back this morning. Could have stuck
a knife into me easy. "Look here!" says I, and fetched him a tap on the
ear that will make him walk louder next time, I warrant. He could have
stuck a knife into me easy.'

"A clear case of moral funk, I should say. Can you imagine the fellow,
Ridgeway--"

"Yes; oh, yes." I was ready with a phrase of my own. "A man handicapped
with an imagination. You see he can't quite understand this 'barbarian,'
who has him beaten by about thirty centuries of civilization--and his
imagination has to have something to chew on, something to hit--a 'tap
on the ear,' you know."

"By gracious! that's the ticket!" McCord pounded his knee. "And now
we've got another chap going to pieces--Peters, he calls him. Refuses
to eat dinner on August the third, claiming he caught the Chink making
passes over the chowder-pot with his thumb. Can you believe it,
Ridgeway--in this very cabin here?" Then he went on with a suggestion
of haste, as though he had somehow made a slip. "Well, at any rate, the
disease seems to be catching. Next day it's Bach, the second seaman, who
begins to feel the gaff. Listen:

"'Back he comes to me to-night, complaining he's being watched. He
claims the ---- has got the evil eye. Says he can see y