Madden looked at his willing helper curiously. “Kill it—how are you going to kill it?”
“Dead, sor, yes, kill it dead, sor.” Galton nodded solemnly, “My brother Charley, cap'n o' th' Cambria, sir, in th' 'Amburg-American Line, 'e learned me to kill sea sorpints, w'en I was jest a l-little bit of a—a piker, sor. An' I n-never forgot 'ow 'e told me to do it. You climb up th' mainmast, sor, w'ere you can git at their 'eads, cross your fingers for luck, an' blow tobacco smoke in their eyes. They 'ate tobacco smoke an——”
Leonard stared at the fellow, with a sinking heart. He was drunk. As to whether he knew anything about marine engines or not, there was no way to find out.
The effect of the long strain of heat, hunger and anxiety now told on Madden in a wave of unreasonable exasperation.
“You boozy fool!” snapped the officer, “you haven't sense enough to run a go-cart. Go down and start a fire in the furnace—can you do that?”
“Shertainly,” nodded Galton gravely, “Mr. Madden, I can do anything. Go bring me th'
