I Receive a Warning

Singleton, the first mate, and Turner were sitting at a table
littered with bottles and glasses, and standing over them, white
with fury, was Captain Richardson. In the doorway to the main cabin,
dressed in pajamas and a bathrobe, Vail was watching the scene.

"I told you last night, Mr. Turner," the captain said, banging the
table with his fist, "I won't have you interfering with my officers,
or with my ship. That man's on duty, and he's drunk."

"Your ship!" Turner sneered thickly. "It's my ship, and I--I
discharge you."

He got to his feet, holding to the table. "Mr. Singleton--hic--
from now on you're captain. Captain Singleton! How--how d'ye
like it?"

Mr. Vail came forward, the only cool one of the four.

"Don't be a fool, Marsh," he protested. "Come to bed. The captain's
right."

Turner turned his pale-blue eyes on Vail, and they were as full of
danger as a snake's. "You go to hell!" he said. "Singleton, you're
the captain, d'ye hear? If Rich--if Richardson gets funny, put him
--in irons."

Singleton stood up, with a sort of swagger. He wes less intoxicated
than Turner, but ugly enough. He faced the captain with a leer.

"Sorry, old fellow," he said, "but you heard what Turner said!"

The captain drew a deep breath. Then, without any warning, he leaned
across the table and shot out his clenched fist. It took the mate on
the point of the chin, and he folded up in a heap on the floor.

"Good old boy!" muttered Burns, beside me. "Good old boy!"