"Explain."

"It's McTee again, d.a.m.n his eyes!"

"Do you mean to say they've started to treat you as they did on the _Mary Rogers_? The scrubbing and then the work in the fireroom?"

"Right."

She stamped her foot in impotent fury.

"What manner of man is he, Dan? He's not all brute; why does he treat you like this?"

The Irishman smiled.

She cried with increasing anger: "What can I do?"

"Make your skin yellow an' your hair gray an' walk with no spring in your step. He wants to break me now because of you."

There was moist pity in her eyes, yet they gleamed with excitement at the thought of this battle of the t.i.tans for her sake.

"I will go to him," she said after a moment, "and tell him that you mean nothing to me. Then he will stop."

The cold, incurious eyes studied her without pa.s.sion, and once more he smiled.

"He'll not stop. Whether you like me or not, Kate, doesn't count. One of us'll go down, an' you'll be for the one that's left. He knows it--I know it."

"Harrigan!" called the voice of McTee from the bridge, and the tall Scotchman lifted his cap to Kate.

"I'm the slave," said Harrigan, "and there's the whip. Good-by."

She stamped her foot with an almost childish fury, saying: "Someday he shall regret this brutal tyranny. Good-by, Dan, and good luck!"

She took his hand in both of hers, but her eyes held spitefully upon the bridge, as if she hoped that McTee would witness the handshake; the captain, however, had turned his back upon them.

Dan muttered to himself as he climbed the bridge: "Did she do that to anger McTee or to please me?" And the thought so occupied his mind that he paid no attention to the Scotchman when he reached the bridge. He merely dropped to his knees and commenced scrubbing. McTee, in the meanwhile, loitered about the bridge as if on his own ship. In due time Harrigan drew near, the suds swishing under his brush. The Irishman, remembering suddenly, commenced to hum a tune.

"The old grind, eh, Harrigan?" said McTee.

The Irishman, humming idly still, looked up, calmly surveyed the captain, and then went on as if he had heard merely empty wind instead of words.

"After the scrubbing brush the shovel," went on McTee, but still Harrigan paid no attention. He rose when his task was completed and made his eyes gentle as if with pity while he gazed upon McTee.

"I'm sorry for you, McTee; you've made a hard fight; it's strange you've got no ghost of a chance of winnin'."

"What d'you mean?"

"Couldn't you hear her when she talked to me?"

"I could not."

"Couldn't you see her face? It was written there as plain as print."

McTee cleared his throat.

"What was written there?"

"The thing you want to see. When she took my hand in both of hers--"

"h.e.l.l!"

"Ah-h, man, it was wonderful! The scrubbing brush an' the shovel--they mean nothin' to me now."

"Harrigan, you're lying."

The latter dropped his scrubbing brush into the bucket of suds and stood with arms akimbo studying the captain.

"For a smart man, McTee, you've been a fool. I could of gone down on me knees an' begged to do what you've done. Don't you see? You've thrown her with her will or against it into me arms. I'm poor Harrigan, brave and downtrodden; you're Black McTee once more, the tyrant. She looks sick at the mention of your name."

"I never dreamed you'd go whining to her. I thought you were a man; you're only a spineless dog, Harrigan!"

"Am I that? She pities me, McTee, an' from pity it's only one step to something bigger. Can you trust me to lead her that one step? You can!"

"If I went to her and told her how you boasted of having won her?"

"She wouldn't believe what you said about me if you swore it with both hands on the Bible. Be wise, McTee. Give up the game. You've lost her, me boy! For every day that I work in the fireroom I'll come to her an'

show her the palms of me bleedin' hands an' mention your name. An' for every day I work in the hole the hate of you will burn blacker into her heart."

"I'd rather have her hate than her pity."

"You'll have both; her hate for torturin' Harrigan; her pity for lettin' the devil in you get the best of the man. You're done for, McTee."

Each one of the short phrases was like a whip flicked across the face of McTee, but he would not wince.

"You've said enough. Now get down to the fireroom. I've had Henshaw prepare the chief engineer for your coming."

Harrigan turned.

"Wait! Remember when you're in h.e.l.l that the old compact still holds.

Your hand in mine and a promise to be my man will end the war."

Only the low laughter of the Irishman answered as he made his way down to the deck.

CHAPTER 18

"There's times for truth an' there's times for lying," murmured Harrigan, as he stowed away the bucket and brush and started down for the fireroom, "an' this was one of the times for lyin'. He's sick for the love of her, an' he's hatin' the thought of Harrigan."