“Oi don't a—ack loike it, you—hic—you couldn't tell it on me, b-but Oi—Oi—Oi'm drunk, aw roight.”
“I theenk Greer ees in the cook's galley,” smiled Deschaillon, who appeared to be rational; then he added coolly: “Eef there ees any fighting, I weel help you, Meester Madden.”
“Cook's galley!” sputtered Mulcher. “'E's drinkin' hit ever' drop, lads; come on!”
“An' th' grub, too!” added Hogan.
This news completely disorganized the court martial and election committee. Galton himself forgot his revenge in his thirst. They started aft pellmell in confused haste to help Greer finish the rum.
Leonard made no objection. They were already drunk. They might as well dispose of the liquor once for all, and then it would trouble discipline no more.
When the men and their turmoil had disappeared, Madden remained on deck, filled with a dull, heavy feeling of lassitude and bitterness. It was one of those moments when a man's hope is swamped in present difficulties.
The sun swung slowly down into the western
