Gaskin was the first man who came in reach of the wrathful American.
Madden caught his arm, whirled him about.
"You ladle rum out to these hogs?" he blazed.
Gaskin revolved with dignity and considered his accuser. "You wouldn't
think Hi'd do such a thing, sor!"
"Then how did they get it?" Leonard shook the fat arm sharply.
"In spite o' me, sor! In spite o' me!" defended the cook, shaking his
fat jowls earnestly. "Hi rebooked 'em, sor. Says Hi, 'Gents, this is
lootin', it is piratin', it is----'"
"You should have refused them a drop!"
"Refuse--Hi did refuse, sor! Hi did more. Hi blocked 'em! Hi--Hi fought
hout, like a demon, sor! There were too many! Hoverpowered me, sor, they
did! I was fightin' and blockin', fightin' and blockin', like a d-demon,
sor, b-but--b-but----"
Here Gaskin's utterance grew thicker, his fat head bobbed, then he
slithered down by the rail in the hot sunshine; his face stared skyward
and stewed sweat in the terrific heat. Madden gave a grunt of disgust.
Gaskin was fast asleep.
There was nothing to be done. The men were drunk and he would have to
wait till they became sober before making an attempt to run the
_Vulcan_. He stood a moment, staring disgustedly at his useless
crew, then finally stooped and dragged Gaskin to the shady side of the
superstructure.
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