The pool of grease hardened into a flat cone of tallow on the deck. "Did you get it away?" I asks him. "We'll soon see," he says. When we made steam and got well outside, all we saw, far down on the horizon, was a streak of black smoke going wide open to the south'ard. The admiral let her go--with that start and she good for twenty-one knots he had to. And while we were watching, up comes the commissary yeoman to complain to the flag-lieutenant. When he came to put the tobacco back in the boxes there was sixty-four plugs shy and thirteen more had bites out of them. The flag-lieutenant said he did not see how he could help the commissary yeoman; and then, being pretty tired, we turned in. When we woke up we were at anchor in Vladivostok. They thought Furlong was all right after that, and wanted him to start right in and overhaul a wireless plant in their yard ashore. He could be an officer if he desired, they said. "What d'y'think of it, Cahalan?" he says. "They're good people, the Russians," I said, "and I like 'em. But I like my own people better, and I will not. I'm going back home." "And me," he says. And we did, or back to the nearest thing to it--a cruiser of our own which happened to be to anchor in Chee Foo. Dan Magee: White Hope That night in the forec's'le Tom was telling them how he got the word of the Jeffries-Johnson fight. "I sights her smoke to the west'ard, the sun just risin'. But it came to me that mebbe a great steamer like her wouldn't like it to be held up by a couple o' Grand Bank trawlers in a dory, an' I mentions that to Jack there, but Jack says: 'You know how they all want to know aboard the vessel, 'specially the cook.'" The cook looked up to say dejectedly: "I'd ha' forgiven you." "Jack handed me his oil jacket for a signal o' distress, an' I lashes it to the blade of an oar an' lashes th' oar to a for'ard thwart an' sits down an' waits. "Along she comes, an' she cert'nly was the grand sight comin'. The len'th an' height of her, and a wave to her bow an' stern would swamp a dory! An' her bridge! Miles away 'twas high as some flyin' thing. On she comes a-roarin'--twenty-six knots, no less. An' almost atop of us she stops. An' I looks up at her, an' a gold-braided lad in blue he leans over the side rail o' th' bridge an' he says: 'What's wrong with you chaps?' "An' I looks up an' says: 'Who won?' "An' he says: 'What d'y'mean--who won?' "An' I says: 'God, man! where you been the last few days ashore? Who won th' fight?' "A couple other gold-braided lads 'd joined the first, an' behind them four or five rail-polishers was bobbin' up an' down. An' then came a fat-whiskered lad an' bustles all the others out o' his way, an' one o' the others hands him a little megaphone, an' he leans over the rail an' he says: 'You Yankee beggars, do I understand that you're holdin' up a ship of our class, and we, bearin' the roy'l mails, to ask who won a bloody prize-fight?'