"Nothing that I care to repeat. . . . Stop! I am perfectly able to take care of myself. I do not need any valiant champion." "He has spoken to you about me?" "A letter. I saw only his name and yours. I tore it up and threw it overboard. Let us go back. Somehow, everything seems spoiled. I am sorry I spoke." "I shall see that he does not bother you again," ominously. They returned to the promenade deck in silence. When Warrington found Craig the man was helplessly intoxicated. He lay sprawled upon his mattress, and the kick administered did not stir him. Warrington looked down at the sodden wretch moodily. Craig's intoxication was fortunate for him, otherwise he would have been roughly handled; for there was black murder in the heart of the broken man standing above him. Warrington relaxed his clenched hands. This evil-breathing thing at his feet was the primal cause of it all, he and a man's damnable weakness. Of what use his new-found fortune? Better for him had he stayed in the jungle, better have died there, hugging his poor delusion. Oh, abysmal fool that he had been! X THE CUT DIRECT It was after five in the morning when the deckhands tried to get Craig to go down to his room. With the dull obstinacy of a drunken man, he refused to stir; he was perfectly satisfied to stay where he was. The three brown men stood irresolutely and helplessly around the man. Every one had gone below. The hose was ready to flush the deck. It did not matter; he, Craig, would not budge. "Leave me alone, you black beggars!" "But, Sahib," began one of the Lascars, who spoke English. "Don't talk to me. I tell you, get out!" striking at their feet with his swollen hands. Warrington, who had not lain down at all, but who had wandered about the free decks like some lost soul from _The Flying Dutchman_, Warrington, hearing voices, came out of the smoke-room. A glance was sufficient. A devil's humor took possession of him. He walked over. "Get up," he said quietly. Craig blinked up at him from out of puffed eyes. "Go to the devil! Fine specimen to order me about." "Will you get up peacefully? These men have work to do." Craig was blind to his danger. "What's that to me? Go away, all of you, to the devil, for all I care. I'll get up when I get damn good and ready. Not before." Warrington picked up the hose. "Sahib!" cried the Lascar in protest. "Be still!" ordered Warrington. "Craig, for the last time, will you get up?" "No!" Warrington turned the key, and a deluge of cold salt-water struck Craig full in the chest. He tried to sit up, but was knocked flat. Then he rolled over on the deck, choking and sputtering. He crawled on his hands and knees until he reached the chair-rail, which he clutched desperately, drawing himself up. The pitiless stream never swerved. It smacked against the flat of his back like the impact of a hand. "For God's sake stop it!" cried Craig, half strangled. "Will you go below?"