And at midnight when Mr. MacCandlish strolled out under the tropic moon for a last look about before turning in, he heard the voice of Feeny and the voices of Feeny's mates as they raged at their work. If the stokers slept that night, none of the millionaires could have told the space of time Mr. Feeny allotted to them for repose; for in the rosy dawn, when they ran down to the shore for a plunge in the surf, there midway between the wreck and the island was the life-boat piled high with stores. And all that day the work went on without pause. Only Murphy, with frying pan and coffee pot, snatched a few moments from his toil to minister to the comfort of the party under the awnings. That night the wind slued round to the south and blew a gale; and when morning broke, the Orinoco had vanished finally from the sight of men. “'Tis organization I'm teachin' the b'ys,” explained Mr. Feeny. “Ah!... organization,” said Mr. MacCandlish. “I've knowed about it since that night in New York when I heard you give 'em the talk in the theayter. It was great!” “Were you there, Feeny?” asked MacCandlish. This was the most subtle flattery he had ever known. “Was I there? Drunk or sober, it was Mike Feeny's best day ashore! I been a understandin', reasonin' man ever since I listened to you. Supply and demand,—the problem of civilization, the problem of distribution,—bearin' this in mind I've divided the work. Tom Murphy's something of a cook, so I've app'inted him to the grub division, with Sullivan and the Portuguese to help. Corrigan, and Pete, the Swede, will bring our supplies up as we need 'em from the point where the salvage is stored. And I've put O'.ara to oysterin' for the good of the community. The other lads will work as comes handiest.” “You are showing excellent judgment, my man,” said MacCandlish warmly. Just at dusk that night, Mr. Feeny, in the presence of the stokers, hoisted a queer-looking flag down by the camp where he and his mates lived. Then standing with bared head beneath the fluttering pennant, he said: “I pronounce these here the United States of Ireland!... In conference with Mister Murphy, I've decided on a Declaration of Independence and a Constitution which you can ask about if you're at all curious. If you ain't—I'll say this much for it,—we're opposed to anarchy, communism and socialism. We believe in the sacred rights of property—which is only another name for salvage. We believe, too, that the law of supply and demand is a great law, and well adapted for to take healthy root in this climate. We will now proceed to vote for Mike Feeny for president; Tom Murphy, police judge; Jack Corrigan, alderman; and Pete, the Swede, cop. 'Tis right the foreigners we have should hold some of the jobs. And now the elections bein' happily over, we'll just leave the public at large to discover what's been done for to make life brighter and easier for it.”