"Get off the bridge!" thundered McTee. "But I'm Harrigan, and--" McTee turned to his first and second mates. "Throw that man off the bridge!" he ordered. Harrigan didn't wait. He retreated down the steps to the deck and went to the rail. A wide gap of swarthy water now extended between the ship and the dock, but he placed his knee on the rail ready to dive. Then he turned and stood with folded arms looking up to the bridge, for his mind was dark with many doubts. He tapped a passing sailor on the shoulder. "What sort of an old boy is the captain?" He made up his mind that according to the answer he would stay with the ship or swim to the shore, but the sailor merely stared stupidly at him for a moment and then grinned slowly. There might be malice, there might be mere ridicule in that smile. He passed on before another question could be asked. "Huh!" grunted Harrigan. "I stay!" He kept his eyes fixed on the bridge, remaining motionless at the rail for an hour while the glow of Honolulu grew dimmer and dimmer past the stern. There were lights in the after-cabin and he guessed that the ship, in a small way, carried both freight and passengers. At last McTee came down the steps to the deck and as he passed Harrigan snapped: "Follow me." He led the way aft and up another flight of steps to the after-cabin, unlocked a door, and showed Harrigan into the captain's room. Here he took one chair and Harrigan dropped easily into another. "Now, what 'n hell was your line of thinkin', McTee," he began, "when you told me to--" "Stand up!" said McTee. "What?" "Stand up!" Harrigan rose very slowly. His jaw was setting harder and harder, and his face became grim. "Harrigan, you took a chance and came with me." "Yes." "I didn't ask you to come." "Sure you didn't, but if you think you can treat me like a swine and get away with it--" It was wonderful to see the eyes of McTee grow small. They seemed to retreat until they became points of light shining from the deep shadow of his brow. They were met by the cold, incurious light of Harrigan's stare. "You're a hard man, Harrigan." He made no answer, but listened to the deep thrum of the engines. It seemed to him that the force which drove the ship was like a part of McTee's will, a thing of steel. "And I'm a hard man, Harrigan. On this ship I'm king. There's no will but my will; there's no right but my right; there's no law but my law. Remember, on land we stood as equals. On this ship you stand and I sit." The thin lips did not curve, and yet they seemed to be smiling cruelly, and the eyes were probing deep, deep, deep into Harrigan's soul, weighing, measuring, searching. "When we reach land," said Harrigan, "I got an idea I'll have to break you." He raised his hands, which trembled with the restrained power of his arms, and moved them as though slowly breaking a stick of wood. "I've broken men--like that," he finished.