"What's the matter? What's wrong?," he whispered from the outside.
"The mate--the mate of the _Vulcan_ is in there!" gasped the
American.
"Impossible!" Smith dived under the hood for himself.
Both heads just managed to squeeze in and the two men stared at Malone
as if he were raised from the grave. The mate, however, was not
funereal. He seemed in the pink of condition, rather fatter than he had
been on the dock, and he wore the pleased expression of a man well
content with life.
As men will do when under a fixed stare, he presently glanced about and
his eyes fell on the porthole. He looked at the dim port for several
seconds intently, as if he could not quite make out their faces. Madden
frowned, jerked his head up and down in a signal for Malone to approach.
The mate's little eyes went round at the request. He made a surprised
gesture to his partner, scrambled to his feet and drew near. The whole
cabin followed his motions.
"W'ot is it?" he whispered, still peering into the half-faces seen in
the round hole.
"Madden and Smith."
"_W'ot_!"
"Yes."
"Great sharks! W'ot you lads doin' 'ere?"
"Came off the tug--what is this?"
"W'ot is w'ot?"
"This ship we're on?"
It seemed as if Malone's little eyes would pop out of his head.
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