“Paint! Bring you paint!” roared Malone, apoplectic. “Git out an' git your paint, or I'll put a longer, uglier head than that on your shoulders.”
Caradoc gave a shrug, stooped for the bucket, then began composedly climbing the ladder straight at the sputtering officer.
“Be careful there, Smith,” warned Madden in an undertone; “he'd as soon as not slug you without giving you a dog's chance.”
Caradoc said nothing but continued his climbing. The men on the platform fore and aft ceased work, watching the mate and the climbing man intently. The silence following the usual drone of conversation was noticeable.
Caradoc was just reaching up to climb into Malone, when at that moment something happened that drew and held everybody's attention.
The whole face of the sea around the dock broke into a sort of sputtering. The ocean seemed to boil. To his astonishment, Madden saw the commotion was caused by millions of small fishes leaping and running along the surface.
Cries came from all over the dock at once:
