“Bet you the drinks he’s gone to find the captain and blow him up,” admiringly cried the loquacious young man. “If Jenkins P. Chase gets his dander up he’s liable to buy the ship and the whole blamed line and run it to suit himself. He is the original live-wire. Most wonderful man in the little old United States.” In a rather secluded corner of the smoking-room sat two passengers who had taken no part in the general conversation. One might have suspected that all this fuss over a belated sailing caused them mild amusement. The younger was of a cast of features unmistakably Irish, with the combination of pugnacity and humor so often discernible in men of that blood. His companion was ruddy and big-bodied, his hair and mustache well frosted by time. Said the latter, after due reflection: “Hurry has killed a whole lot of people, Cap’n Mike. What’s the matter with these peevish gents, anyhow? The company is givin’ them their board and they’re as comfortable as lords. I don’t care if the steamer lays in port a week.” “That Jenkins P. Chase is a horrible example, Johnny,” quoth Captain Michael O’Shea. “’Tis his habit to go flyin’ about, and there is no rest for him anywhere. If ye accumulate too much money, you may get that way yourself.” “I ain’t got a symptom,” said improvident old Johnny Kent. “I’ve learned, for one thing, that it’s poor business to try to hurry the sea. A ship must bide her time and sail when she’s ready.” “But what ails this one, I wonder?” queried Captain O’Shea. “I mistrust something is wrong. The skipper of her, and a grand man he is, with his gold buttons and all, he went below a while ago, Johnny, and he has not come back.” They strolled outside, and being seafaring men of wide experience, found significance in trifles which would have meant little or nothing to a landsman. This was no ordinary delay. The whole complex organization of the liner was disturbed. “There is trouble amongst the crew,” observed O’Shea. Johnny Kent halted near an engine-room skylight and cocked his head to listen. “The trouble is in this department,” said he. Presently a tug-boat hastily cast off from the nearest quay and churned her way out to the _Alsatian_. A dozen Liverpool policemen scrambled aboard the liner and vanished between-decks. From the depths below the water-line arose a hubbub of oaths and shouts. A few minutes later two policemen reappeared dragging between them to the gangway a shock-headed, muscular fellow in blue dungarees. Although he made no resistance, they handled him roughly and he was expeditiously handcuffed to a stanchion on the deck of the tug. Immediately thereafter the sounds of disturbance down below increased in violence, and swarming up ladders and through passageways came a sooty, greasy crowd of stokers, trimmers, and coal-passers.