Part 21 (2/2)
”Get out!” he shouted, springing to his feet. ”I'll have you boxed up and sweated; I'll have you pounded to a pulp! Wait! Stay here! I'll bring in some men!”
Harrigan was desperate. He knew that what he had said was equivalent to a mutiny. He threw caution to the wind. Campbell had rung a bell.
”Bring your men an' be d.a.m.ned!” he answered; and now his head tilted back and he set his shoulders to the wall. ”I'll be afther lickin' your whole crew! A man do ye call yourself? Ah-h, ye're not fit to be lickin' the boots ay a man! Slave driver? No, ye're an overseer, an'
Henshaw kicks you an' you pa.s.s the kick along. But lay a hand on Harrigan, an' he'll tear the rotten head off your shoulders!”
The door flew open, and the second a.s.sistant engineer, a burly man, with two or three others, appeared at the entrance, drawn by the furious clamor of the bell.
”What--” began the second a.s.sistant, and then stopped as he caught sight of Harrigan against the wall with his hands poised, ready for the first attack.
”Who called you?” roared Campbell.
”Your bell--” began the a.s.sistant.
”You lie! Get out! I was telling a joke to my old friend Harrigan.
Maybe I leaned back against the bell. Shake hands with Harrigan. I've known him for years.”
Incredulous, Harrigan lowered his clenched fist and relaxed it to meet the hesitant hand of the a.s.sistant.
”Now be off,” growled the chief, and the others fled.
As the door closed, Harrigan turned in stupid amazement upon the Scotchman. The latter had dropped into his chair again and now looked at Harrigan with twinkling eyes.
”You'd have fought 'em all, eh, lad?”
He burst into heavy laughter.
”Ah, the blue devil that came in your eyes! Why did I not let them have one whirl at you? Ha, ha, ha!”
”Wake me up,” muttered Harrigan. ”I'm dreamin'!”
”There's a thick lie in my throat,” said Campbell. ”I must wash it out and leave a truth there!”
He opened a small cupboard, exposing a formidable array of black and green bottles. One of the black he pulled down, as well as two small gla.s.ses, which he filled to the brim.
”To your bonny blue eyes, lad!” he said, and raised a gla.s.s. ”Here's an end to the mutiny--and a drop to our old friends.h.i.+p!”
Harrigan, still with clouded mind, raised the gla.s.s and drank. It was a fine sherry wine.
”How old would you say that wine was?” queried the Scotchman with exaggerated carelessness.
The carelessness did not deceive Harrigan. His mind went blanker still, for he knew little about good wines.
”Well?” asked the engineer.
”H-m!” muttered Harrigan, and racked his brain to remember the ages at which a good vintage becomes a rare old wine. ”About thirty-five years.”
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