“There won’t be room for you . . . and for one or two others, I’m sorry to say.”

“Glory be!” said Daughtry.  “I was just fearin’ you’d be wantin’ me along, sir.—­Kwaque, you take ’m my fella dunnage belong me, put ’m in other fella boat along other side.”

While Kwaque obeyed, the mate sounded the well for the last time, reporting three feet and a half, and the lighter freightage of the starboard boat was tossed in by the sailors.

A rangy, gangly, Scandinavian youth of a sailor, droop-shouldered, six feet six and slender as a lath, with pallid eyes of palest blue and skin and hair attuned to the same colour scheme, joined Kwaque in his work.

“Here, you Big John,” the mate interfered.  “This is your boat.  You work here.”

The lanky one smiled in embarrassment as he haltingly explained:  “I tank I lak go along cooky.”

“Sure, let him go, the more the easier,” Nishikanta took charge of the situation.  “Anybody else?”

“Sure,” Dag Daughtry sneered to his face.  “I reckon what’s left of the beer goes with my boat . . . unless you want to argue the matter.”

“For two cents—­” Nishikanta spluttered in affected rage.

“Not for two billion cents would you risk a scrap with me, you money-sweater, you,” was Daughtry’s retort.  “You’ve got their goats, but I’ve got your number.  Not for two billion billion cents would you excite me into callin’ it right now.—­Big John!  Just carry that case of beer across, an’ that half case, and store in my boat.—­Nishikanta, just start something, if you’ve got the nerve.”

Simon Nishikanta did not dare, nor did he know what to do; but he was saved from his perplexity by the shout: 

“Here she comes!”

All rushed to holding-ground, and held, while the whale broke more timbers and the Mary Turner rolled sluggishly down and back again.

“Lower away!  On the run!  Lively!”

Captain Doane’s orders were swiftly obeyed.  The starboard boat, fended off by sailors, rose and fell in the water alongside while the remainder of the dunnage and provisions showered into her.

“Might as well lend a hand, sir, seein’ you’re bent on leaving in such a hurry,” said Daughtry, taking the chronometer from Captain Doane’s hand and standing ready to pass it down to him as soon as he was in the boat.

“Come on, Greenleaf,” Grimshaw called up to the Ancient Mariner.

“No, thanking you very kindly, sir,” came the reply.  “I think there’ll be more room in the other boat.”

“We want the cook!” Nishikanta cried out from the stern sheets.  “Come on, you yellow monkey!  Jump in!”

Little old shrivelled Ah Moy debated.  He visibly thought, although none knew the intrinsicness of his thinking as he stared at the gun of the fat pawnbroker and at the leprosy of Kwaque and Daughtry, and weighed the one against the other and tossed the light and heavy loads of the two boats into the balance.