The Max Brand Megapack. Max Brand
old grind, eh, Harrigan?” said McTee.
The Irishman, humming idly still, looked up, calmly surveyed the captain, and then went on as if he had heard merely empty wind instead of words.
“After the scrubbing brush the shovel,” went on McTee, but still Harrigan paid no attention. He rose when his task was completed and made his eyes gentle as if with pity while he gazed upon McTee.
“I’m sorry for you, McTee; you’ve made a hard fight; it’s strange you’ve got no ghost of a chance of winnin’.”
“What d’you mean?”
“Couldn’t you hear her when she talked to me?”
“I could not.”
“Couldn’t you see her face? It was written there as plain as print.”
McTee cleared his throat.
“What was written there?”
“The thing you want to see. When she took my hand in both of hers—”
“Hell!”
“Ah-h, man, it was wonderful! The scrubbing brush an’ the shovel—they mean nothin’ to me now.”
“Harrigan, you’re lying.”
The latter dropped his scrubbing brush into the bucket of suds and stood with arms akimbo studying the captain.
“For a smart man, McTee, you’ve been a fool. I could of gone down on me knees an’ begged to do what you’ve done. Don’t you see? You’ve thrown her with her will or against it into me arms. I’m poor Harrigan, brave and downtrodden; you’re Black McTee once more, the tyrant. She looks sick at the mention of your name.”
“I never dreamed you’d go whining to her. I thought you were a man; you’re only a spineless dog, Harrigan!”
“Am I that? She pities me, McTee, an’ from pity it’s only one step to something bigger. Can you trust me to lead her that one step? You can!”
“If I went to her and told her how you boasted of having won her?”
“She wouldn’t believe what you said about me if you swore it with both hands on the Bible. Be wise, McTee. Give up the game. You’ve lost her, me boy! For every day that I work in the fireroom I’ll come to her an’ show her the palms of me bleedin’ hands an’ mention your name. An’ for every day I work in the hole the hate of you will burn blacker into her heart.”
“I’d rather have her hate than her pity.”
“You’ll have both; her hate for torturin’ Harrigan; her pity for lettin’ the devil in you get the best of the man. You’re done for, McTee.”
Each one of the short phrases was like a whip flicked across the face of McTee, but he would not wince.
“You’ve said enough. Now get down to the fireroom. I’ve had Henshaw prepare the chief engineer for your coming.”
Harrigan turned.
“Wait! Remember when you’re in hell that the old compact still holds. Your hand in mine and a promise to be my man will end the war.”
Only the low laughter of the Irishman answered as he made his way down to the deck.
CHAPTER 18
“There’s times for truth an’ there’s times for lying,” murmured Harrigan, as he stowed away the bucket and brush and started down for the fireroom, “an’ this was one of the times for lyin’. He’s sick for the love of her, an’ he’s hatin’ the thought of Harrigan.”
So he was humming a rollicking tune when he reached the fireroom. It was stifling hot, to be sure, but it was twice as large as that of the Mary Rogers. The firemen were all glistening with sweat. One of them, larger than the rest and with a bristling, shoebrush mustache like a sign of authority, said to the newcomer: “You’re Harrigan?”
He nodded.
“The chief wants to see you, boss, before you start swingin’ the shovel.”
“Where’s the chief’s cabin?”
“Take him up, Alex,” directed the big fireman, and Harrigan followed one of the men up the narrow ladder and then aft. He was grateful for this light respite from the heat of the hole, but his joy faded when the man opened a door and he stood at last before the chief, Douglas Campbell, who looked up at the burly Irishman in a long silence.
The scion of the ancient and glorious clan of the Campbells had fallen far indeed. His face was a brilliant red, and the nose, comically swollen at the end, was crossed with many blue veins. Like Milton’s Satan, however, he retained some traces of his original brightness. Harrigan knew at once that the chief engineer was fully worthy of joining those rulers of the south seas and harriers of weaker men, McTee and White Henshaw.
“Stand straight and look me in the eye,” said Campbell, and in his voice was a slight “bur-r-r” of the Scotch accent.
Harrigan jerked back his shoulders and stood like a soldier at attention.
“A drinkin’ man,” he was saying to himself, “may be hard an’ fallen low, but he’s sure to have a heart.”
“So you’re the mutineer, my fine buck?”
Harrigan hesitated, and this seemed to infuriate Campbell, who banged a brawny fist on a table and thundered: “Answer me, or I’ll skin your worthless carcass!”
The cold, blue eyes of Harrigan did not falter. They studied the face of the Campbell as a fighter gauges his opponent.
“If I say ‘yes,’” he responded at length, “it’s as good as puttin’ myself in chains; if I say ‘no,’ you’ll be thinkin’ I’m givin’ in, you an’ McTee, damn his eyes!”
Campbell grew still redder.
“You damn him, do you? McTee is Scotch; he’s a gentleman too good to be named by swine!”
The irrepressible Harrigan replied: “He’s enough to make swine speak!”
Amazement and then a gleam of laughter shone in the eyes of the chief engineer. He was seized, apparently, by a fit of violent coughing and had to turn away, hiding his face with his hand. When he faced the Irishman again, his jaw was set hard, but his eyes were moist.
“Look me in the eye, laddie. Men say a good many things about me; they call me a slave driver and worse. Why? Because when I say ‘move,’ my men have to jump. I’ve asked you a question, and I’m going to get an answer. Are you a mutineer or not?”
“I will not pleasure McTee by sayin’ I’m not!”
The ponderous hand rose over the table, but it was checked before it fell.
“What the devil has McTee to do with this?” he bellowed.
“He’s the one that sent me here.” Harrigan was thinking fast as he went on: “And you’re going to keep me here for the sake of McTee.”
Campbell changed from red to purple and exploded: “I’ll keep no man here to please another; not White Henshaw himself. He rules on deck, and I rule below. D’you hear? Tell me you’re a liar! Speak up!”
“You’re a liar,” said Harrigan instantly.
The engineer’s mouth opened and closed twice while he stared at Harrigan.
“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 damned!” he answered; and now