Argosy, Vol. 85, No. 3 — page 170: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

512 THE “You're drunk!” shouted Fisher as Egan rose to his feet. ‘“ You’re drunk!” ‘TY ain’t drunk,” returned the angry Egan. “You are,” insisted Fisher. “ You're drunker ’n a fool.” _“T ain’t,” growled Egan. “I only had two drinks.” “You lie!” yelled Fisher aggressively, holding his muscular elbows out from his body. ‘‘ You had a dozen.” | Egan turned. The others of the party cleared away from the pair, expecting what was to them the logical outcome of SO gross an insult. To their utter amazement Egan only glared at Fisher—only stared him in the eye for a moment. Then he quailed be- fore the smaller man and boarded the ship without a word. ‘ Quitter!” some one shouted, and the others jeered. Fisher guffawed loudly in his drunken glee. Egan went to the forecastle, changed his clothes, and was ready before the others of his shift. ‘They said nothing when they came up. They only poked each other and grinned. Their shift was called, and they slid down the slippery ladders into the black pit to feed the fur- naces. The engine-room bell jingled, and the engines started. When Egan climbed to the deck after his watch below, the ship was gliding through the Narrows, flying a row of flags from her signal halyard. A ragged smudge drifted from the big funnel toward the Staten Island shore, almost blotting out a battle-ship that lay * anchored there. Egan stood by the rail for a minute. Then he went forward to wash up. Regularly he took his shift, and regu- larly he came on deck after the grinding toil to stand by the rail for a minute. Always his thoughts for that minute were the same: “‘ How can I show ’em I ain’t a quitter?” In the sixteen days that followed, no one spoke to him except when it was necessary. He grew sullen, and deliber- ARGOSY. ately kept away from the others. He fretted over it, and could think of no way to reinstate himself in the good graces of his fellows. The ship was nearing the end of the voyage. The skipper checked their posi- tion on a chart and called the engineer. They talked quietly for a minute. The engineer nodded and returned to the engine-room. He gave an order, and the sweating stokers worked furiously in the dim light of the dingy pit. They watched their fires carefully. They shoveled and poked and shoveled again. They worked like slaves, and the quivering hands on the pressure-gage gradually rose. Five pounds, ten pounds, and the pop valve on Egan’s boiler opened. It hissed malevolently for a moment and closed. The shovels clanged against the furnace doors and scraped under the piles of coal. Then one of the stokers collapsed. He was carried to a ventilator, and another stoker was called. He dropped down the ladder and took his place. At first Egan did not notice who had come. Then, as a furnace door was thrown open, the glare lit up the heavy body and bullet head of Fisher working at the next fire. Egan said nothing. He only worked harder. ’ The furnaces roared. The gage-hands quivered on the dials. The men worked furiously, expending every effort. Fisher dripped sweat and panted as he shoveled. The men looked like goblins in the glare and heat. The ‘old steamer plowed through the sea with more foam before. her nose than she had ever raised before. The captain was smiling as he stood on the bridge. The engineer was lean- ing against a polished rail in the engine- room. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a plug of tobacco, bit it, and thought of the baby he would see in its mother’s ‘ arms when they docked at Liverpool in the morning. Everything was running smoothly. Egan closed the door of a furnace with comicloool C©