nts it on them poor
harmless things bekase he's too much av a coward to have it out wid them
that angers him," replied Tim Rooney, adding, as another crash resounded
from the distance: "Jist he'r him now. Bedad he's havin' a foine fling
this toime, an' no misthake at all, at all!"

"What is he doing?" I asked, seeing that the boatswain and the other
two took the uproar as a matter of course, and were in no way surprised
at it. "Is he breaking things?"

"No, ma bouchal," replied Tim carelessly. "He's ownly kickin' presarved
mate tins about the flure av his panthry, which he kapes especial fur
such toimes as he's in a rage wid anyone as offinds him, whin, instead
av standin' up loike a man an' foightin' it out wid the chap that angers
him, he goes and locks himsilf in the panthry an' kicks the harmless
ould tins about, an' bangs 'em ag'in the bulkhead at the side, till ye'd
think he was smashin' the howl ship!"

"What a funny man!" I exclaimed.

"He's all that," said the boatswain sententiously. "An' the strangest
thing av all is, that whin he's done kickin' the tins about an' has
vinted his passion, he'll come out av his panthry as cool an' calm as a
Christian, an' do jist what ye wants him, as swately as if he'd nivir
bin in a timper at all, at all. Jist watch him now."

It was as Tim Rooney explained.

While he was yet describing the steward's peculiar temperament and
strange characteristics, the clattering sounds all at once ceased in the
pantry; and the Portuguese presently appeared with a tray on which were
clean plates and cups and saucers, which he proceeded to lay neatly and
dexterously at one end of the table, looking as calm and quiet as if
"butther wouldn't milt in his mouth, sure," as Tim remarked.

Making a second journey back to the pantry, he returned with a dish of
cold beef and a cheese, besides a plate piled up with slices of bread
and butter, which he certainly must have been cutting all the time he
was kicking the tins about. Then, taking a large bronze teapot from the
top of a stove in the after part of the cabin, where it had been keeping
hot all the while without my noticing it before, the steward poured out
a cup of tea apiece for Tim Rooney and myself, asking politely if there
was anything more he could get us.

"No, thank ye, Paydro," replied Tim rubbing his hands at sight of the
eatables; "this will do foorst rate, me bhoy. Misther Gray-ham, why
don't ye fire away, ma bouchal?