"It was hellish cute," said his companion, as he leaned back and laughed heartily, showing an even row of strong white teeth through the masses of red hair with which the lower portion of his face was covered. "I don't know a man, Dungaree," he added, "who could have done it save yourself." The giant grinned in response to the compliment, and, pulling out a jack-knife, began to pare some tobacco from a twist lying on the table beside him. "That," said he, nodding his head at the knife as he finished the operation, "was the tickler." "Rayther light for the work," said the red-haired man, as he picked the knife up and poised it in his hand. "There's the weight behind it," answered Dungaree Bill, puffing away at his short pipe. "True, but I prefer a brace and bit. I did something like that myself, 'bout--let me see--six years ago, I think; but it don't matter. Whole shipload went down. No time to lower boats, except captain's gig. Lord, how I did laugh! You know the old trick--_sabe?_" "And blowed the oof after," laughed his companion. "Not much," was the reply. "Some shad-belly of a lawyer began to ask questions--curse him!--and the work--well done, too--went for nothing." "And you?" "Went under." "And serve you right for a chowder-headed clam. I was wise enough to take my share in advance--and stick to it, too." The giant tapped his hand over his waist as he spoke, and reaching for the bottle began to pour out another drink for himself. "God's curse," said he, "there's nothing in here." The red-haired man's small eyes were twinkling under the skull-cap pulled well over his brows. "I'll play you for another," he said. "Done with you; but let us have the drink first." "All right; what shall it be?" "Monkeys," replied Dungaree, "and let their tails be curled. After this I'm off--we sail with the tide." The red-haired man rose from his chair, and, opening the door, passed into the bar-room. A hanging lamp was burning in the centre, and Kavasji slept peacefully. Walking with a slightly unsteady gait he reached the bar, and, leaning with both hands on it, shouted out: "Two monkeys; and mind you, Kavasji, lift up your elbow." Kavasji scrambled from his chair, and, placing two tumblers on the table, half filled them with rum. He then turned to a rack where there were a number of bottles of aerated water. As his back was turned the man at the bar pulled out a small phial containing a colourless liquid, and emptied it into one of the tumblers. He had just time to replace the phial in his pocket when Kavasji turned and filled the glasses with what he called tonic water. "That'll do, sonny," said the red-haired man, placing some silver coins with a smart click on the bar. "This settles the shot," and seizing a glass in each hand he lurched forward to rejoin his friend. Kavasji tested the coins carefully with his teeth and rang them on a table. Then opening a drawer, he shut them up with sundry companions.