"What?" he asked vacantly.
"You're to stand watch to-night," Madden raised his voice.
"Stand watch!" cried the Englishman, sitting up, his face flushing
darkly under the bracket lamp. "You _have_ turned master, haven't
you--bootlicker ordering me to stand watch!"
"It's your turn on the list!" commanded Madden brusquely, with
ill-concealed disgust that Smith should be maudlin just when needed.
"My turn--Bah! I'd have been mate myself if I had toadied and flattered
that upstart Malone as you did!" He laughed sarcastically. "Then I could
have had decent dinners, been wearing the mate's sou'wester, been--"
"Cut it out!" snapped Madden. "Will you do your duty or not?"
The dock gave a great lurch that flattened both men against the door,
juggled Caradoc in his berth and sent kit bag and demijohn sliding
toward the visitors.
"Not!" bawled Smith. "I, Caradoc Smith-Wentworth, can't think of going
to stand watch for a gang of siz-seasick navvies an' a t-toady American
Yankee--Not!" he reiterated and laughed in tipsy irony.
A flush of anger went over Madden. He reached down suddenly and caught
up the demijohn.
"You--you bet' not drink th-that, y-you little bossy Yankee; it-it'll
m-make _you_ d-drunk."
"You sot!" trembled Madden. "Whiskey will not be your excuse next time!"
He caught the Irishman's arm, "Come on!" And before Smith realized what
had happened, the two men and his liquor were out of the door and gone.
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