eave me alone, you black beggars!"

"But, Sahib," began one of the Lascars, who spoke English.

"Don't talk to me. I tell you, get out!" striking at their feet with
his swollen hands.

Warrington, who had not lain down at all, but who had wandered about
the free decks like some lost soul from _The Flying Dutchman_,
Warrington, hearing voices, came out of the smoke-room. A glance was
sufficient. A devil's humor took possession of him. He walked over.

"Get up," he said quietly.

Craig blinked up at him from out of puffed eyes. "Go to the devil!
Fine specimen to order me about."

"Will you get up peacefully? These men have work to do."

Craig was blind to his danger. "What's that to me? Go away, all of
you, to the devil, for all I care. I'll get up when I get damn good
and ready. Not before."

Warrington picked up the hose.

"Sahib!" cried the Lascar in protest.

"Be still!" ordered Warrington. "Craig, for the last time, will you
get up?"

"No!"

Warrington turned the key, and a deluge of cold salt-water struck Craig
full in the chest. He tried to sit up, but was knocked flat. Then he
rolled over on the deck, choking and sputtering. He crawled on his
hands and knees until he reached the chair-rail, which he clutched
desperately, drawing himself up. The pitiless stream never swerved.
It smacked against the flat of his back like the impact of a hand.

"For God's sake stop it!" cried Craig, half strangled.

"Will you go below?"

"Yes, yes! Turn it away!" sober enough by now.

Warrington switched off the key, his face humorless, though there was a
sparkle of grim humor in his sleep-hungry eyes. Craig leaned against
the deck-house, shaking and panting.

"I would I could get at your soul as easily." Warrington threw aside
the hose, and the Lascars sprang upon it, not knowing what the big
blond Sahib might do next.

Craig turned, venom on his tongue. He spoke a phrase. In an instant,
cold with fury, Warrington had him by the throat.

"You low base cur!" he said, shaking the man until he resembled a
manikin on wires. "Had you been sober last night, I'd have thrown you
into the sea. Honorless dog! You wrote to Miss Chetwood. You
insulted her, too. If you wish to die, speak to her again."

Craig struggled fiercely to free himself. He wasn't sure, by the look
of the other man's eyes, that he wasn't going to be killed then and
there. There was something cave-mannish and cruel in th