He took a small zinc bait-box from his fishing-kit and handed it to Findlayson, who, on opening it, found a dozen or more brown pellets. Hastily swallowing six of them, the sick man turned over in his bunk and tried to go to sleep, while Peroo went into the smoking-room for a game of _Pok-Kah_ with a party of _Drummerz_ who were crossing to America. A soft yellow haze suffused the state-room, and Findlayson, nervously starting to his feet to see what had caused it, was surprised to find himself confronted by a grinning row of Technicalities ranged in a line upon the sofa under the port, while seated upon his steamer trunk was the Donkey Engine 4-11-44. "Well, here we are," said the Deck Beam, addressing the Donkey Engine. "What are we here for?" "That's it," said the Capstan. "We've left our places at your command. Now, why?" [Illustration: THE DONKEY ENGINE CALLS ON FINDLAYSON] "I wanted you to meet my friend Findlayson," said the Donkey Engine. "He's a good fellow. Findlayson, let me present you to my associates--Mr. Capstan, Mr. Findlayson. And that gentleman over in the corner, Mr. Findlayson, is the Starboard Upper Deck Stringer. Rivet, come over here and meet Mr. Findlayson. The Davits will be here in a minute, and the Centrifugal Bilge Pump will drop in later." "I'm glad to meet you all," said Findlayson, rather dazed. "Thought you would be," returned the Donkey Engine. "That's why I asked them to come up." "Do you mind if I smoke in here?" said the Funnel. "Not a bit," said Findlayson, solemnly. "Let me offer you a cigar." The party roared at this. "He doesn't smoke cigars, Fin, old boy," said the Donkey Engine. "Offer him a ton of coal Perfectos or a basket of kindling Invincibles and he'll take you up. Old Funnel makes a cigarette of a cord of pine logs, you know." "I should think so much smoking would be bad for your nerves," suggested Findlayson. "'Ain't got any," said the Funnel. "I'm only a Flue, you know. Every once in a while I do get a sooty feeling inside, but beyond that I don't suffer at all." "Where's the Keel?" asked the Thrust Block, taking off one of his six collars, which hurt his neck. "He can't come up to-night," said the Donkey Engine, with a sly wink at Findlayson, who, however, failed to respond. "The Hold is feeling a little rocky, and the Keel's got to stay down and steady him." Findlayson looked blankly at the Donkey Engine. As an Englishman in a nervously disordered state, he did not seem quite able to appreciate the Donkey Engine's joke. The latter sighed, shook his cylinder a trifle, and began again. "Hear about the Bow Anchor's row with the Captain?" he asked the Garboard Strake. "No," replied the Strake. "Wouldn't he bow?" "He'd bow all right," said the Donkey Engine, "but he wouldn't ank. Result is he's been put in chains." "Serves him right," said the Bilge Stringer, filling his pipe with Findlayson's tooth-powder. "Serves him right. He ought to be chucked overboard."