“’Ere, mate--you ’ad it in yer ’and.” Jukes took the little oilskin package. They led him back and laid him in the bunk again. They smeared more grease on his burned limbs. They gave him more water. “Look at ’im!--I’m done.” “Me, too.” As Jukes with fumbling fingers untied the package, they gathered round. He nodded his head. His lips moved. A sailor bent above him, listening. “’E’s done. No more o’ships fer ’im.” Jukes dozed away. They passed the picture from hand to hand. They read the dog-eared letter over. “Look at ’ere,” said one, and pointed to the date. “Three year ago! ’Ee’s been a long time----” “Shanghaied, maybe.” “Them crimps.” “I’m done.” “Haw, haw, haw! Maybe!” * * * * * It was the dog-watch time. The sun was setting. Warm, pearly little clouds passed overhead. A low wind murmured. The sailor on lookout leaned on the forecastle rail, watching his comrades on the deck below. Skipper and mate looked forward from the poop. The cook and carpenter lolled in the galley doorway. A dozen sailors gambolled by the hatch, trying themselves, pitting their strength and skill against each other’s. Alf Jukes was there, with head and shoulders higher than the rest. “Here, Jukes!” called one, a lad with an unshaven downy face. “I’ll race you to the masthead!--Up and back. A pound of baccy to the winner. You take the main, and I’ll go up the fore.” “’Ere, Chips! Come on an’ start ’em,” called an eager sailor; and Chips, the carpenter, stepped up. “One--two----” “I’ll bet a pound o’ baccy on young Limbertoes!” “Me, too.” Turning to the mate, the skipper said: “The young fellow’ll win.” “Aye,” said the mate, “he’s young. It’s in his favour.” Jukes at the main, the other at the fore shrouds, stood waiting “three.” “_Three!_” snapped the carpenter. “Go!--go!--go!” “Go, Limbertoes! My baccy’s on you!” “Go, Jukes!--Go, Jukes!” “Show ’im a sailor! Show ’im, Limber, now!” Over the futtock shrouds, together, neck and neck, went Jukes and Limber. “Two pound o’ baccy--’oo takes me on?--two pound on Limber!” “Done--an’ my Sunday whack o’ duff thrown in!” “Lord!--look at that there Jukes! ’Ee’s like a monkey.” “Some sailor, that,” the skipper said. “Look at him go!” “But the young man wins,” the mate replied. “Bully for Limber!” The youngster touched a hand upon the fore royal truck a touch ahead of Jukes upon the main. “Down!--down!--down!” roared all the sailors. Alf Jukes came sliding down the main royal stay. Down the fore royal stay came Limbertoes. “Come on, Limber!” “Limber wins!” “A tie! They’re neck and neck.” “No.--Limber wins!” A bellow rose from every sailor. Full forty feet above the deck, Alf Jukes let go and dropped. Hands up and arms above his head, he fell straight as a plummet and landed on his feet. “That fellow’s like a bear,” the skipper said. “There was a feller on my last ship as’d beat both of ’em,” said a sailor.