“I understand you were the chief of the Narcissus at one time, Mr. Reardon,” Matt began abruptly.  “I understand, also, that under your coaxing you used to get ten miles out of her loaded.”

Parenthetically it may be stated that Matt Peasley had never heard anything of the sort; but he knew the weaknesses of chief engineers and decided to try a shot in the dark, hoping, by the grace of the devil and the luck of a sailor, to score a bull’s-eye.  He succeeded at least in ringing the bell.

“Coax, is it?” murmured Terence Reardon in his deep Kerry brogue.  “Faith, thin, the Narcissus niver laid eye on the day she could do nine an’ a half wit’ the kindliest av treatment.  Wirrah, but ’tis herself was the glutton for coal.  Sure, whin I’d hand in me report to ould Webb, and he’d see where she’d averaged forty ton a day, the big tears’d come into the two eyes av him—­the Lord ha’ mercy on his sowl!”

“You never had any trouble with her engines,” Matt suggested.

“I had throuble keepin’ shteam enough in the b’ilers to run thim; but I’ll say this for her ingines:  Give them a chancet an’ they’d run like a chronometer.”

“Would you consider an offer to leave the Arab and be chief of the Narcissus?” Matt queried.  “I’m thinking of buying her, and if I do I’ll give you twenty-five dollars a month above the regular Association scale.”

“I’ll go ye,” murmured Reardon, “on wan condition:  Ye’ll shpend some money in her ingine room, else ’tis no matther av use for ye to talk to me.  I’ll not be afther breakin’ me poor heart for the sake av twenty-five dollars a month.  Sure, ‘twould be wort’ that alone to see the face av ye, young man, afther wan look at the coal bill.”

“What repairs would you suggest?  Do you think she needs another boiler?  I noticed she has two.  We could move those two over and make room for another.”

“Do nothing av the sort, sir.  Before ould Webb got her she’d been usin’ bad wather down on the East African Coast, I’m thinkin’, and it raised hell wit’ her.  ‘Tis the expinse av retubin’ her condensers that always frightened ould Webb, and whin he lost conthrol the blatherskite booby av a port ingineer the new owners app’inted come down to the ship, looked her over, wit’ niver a question to me that knew the very sowl av her, and reported to the owners that what she needed was another b’iler.”  And Terence Reardon laughed the short, mirthless chuckle of the man who knows.

“Then,” Matt continued, “the money should be spent—­”

“In retubing her condensers,” declared the engineer emphatically.  “Do that an’ do a good job on her, an’ she’ll have shteam enough for thim fine big ingines av hers on thirty-two ton a day, an’ less.  An’ have a care would ye buy her until she ships a new crank shaft.  She’s a crack in the web av the afther crank shaft ye could shtick a knife blade into.  She may run for years, but sooner or later some wan’ll have a salvage claim agin ye if ye neglect it now.  An’, for the love av heaven, have nothin’ to do wit’ her big motor.  ’Twas bur-rnt out by him that had her ahead av me—­bad cess to him, whereiver he is!  An’ they did a poor, cheap job av windin’ the armature agin.  Ye’ll be in hot wather wit’ the electric-light system until ye put in a new motor.