Down the gangway they retreated in a body.  Noyes looked to the captain, but the captain was looking out over the ship’s side.

Noyes went down to luncheon, and after luncheon took his cigar and his book to his room.  When next he came out, he felt that something had happened since the little adventure of the falling block.  The captain was pacing the bridge by fits and starts.  The boson was leaning over the quarter-rail.  The pump-man was busy on a small job forward.

The quiet was unnatural.  Noyes decided to take his constitutional on the long gangway of the main deck.  As he paced aft he saw that some of the crew were laying the hatches on one of the tanks.  He paced forward.  By the time he was aft again they were overhauling a large tarpaulin.  He watched them while they stretched it over the hatch covers.  He wondered what they were about, for the tanks of an empty oil ship are usually left open in fine weather.

Presently he heard one of the men say to another as they stamped down the tarpaulined hatch, “There—­there’s as good a prize ring as a man’d want.”  And then he began to understand.

He stayed aft, while through the smoke of one long cigar he thought it out.  When he next went forward he stopped beside the pump-man, who was cutting a thread on a section of deck-piping.  “Do you mind my watching how you do that trick?” he asked.

The pump-man looked up.  “Surely not,” adding after a moment, “though there’s nothing much worth watching to it.”

Noyes noticed how deftly the tools were handled.  Then he said, “So you and the big fellow are going to have it out?”

“Yes, during dinner we agreed to settle it.”

“But he’s a notorious bruiser—­liable to kill you.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so.  I’ve trimmed ’em bigger.”

“Not bigger, if they could fight at all?”

“Maybe they couldn’t, but”—­from beneath the grease and soot of his face his teeth and eyes flashed swiftly upward—­“they said they could.”

Noyes took another turn of the long gangway.  The tarpaulin was now clamped tightly to the hatch-combings, rendering it smooth and firm under foot.  Camp-stools for the principals were also there, and two buckets of freshly drawn water in opposite corners.

“Mr. Kieran”—­Noyes had halted again beside the pump-man—­“what is it the captain’s got against you?”

“Why”—­he hesitated—­“I don’t think he’s got anything against me exactly.”  His next words came slowly, thoughtfully.  “He may have something against my kind, though.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you see, a man of the captain’s kind can never get a man of my kind to play his game—­and he knows it.  What he wants around here is a lot of poor slobs who will take the kicks and curses and poor grub, say thank you, sir, and come again.”

“But what game does he want you to play?”

“Well, I’m the pump-man.  The ship has big bills for valving and piping and repairing.  If ever the office got suspicious and called me in on it, why—­” he shrugged his shoulders.