"A whole s-ship-load of d-dynamite? You w-want me to help handle it?" Then he grinned as his sense of humor overtook his fright. He had just fled from Colon at sight of General Quesada and his friends. This was hopping from the frying-pan into the fire with a vengeance. "What if I drop a box of it?" he asked. "I am not hiring you to drop it," was the pensive answer of Mr. Naughton, as he flicked a bit of soot from his white serge coat and caressed his neatly trimmed brown beard. "I wish I had something better to offer you. I like your pluck." "I am not showing any pluck so far," confessed Walter. "You have scared me out of a year's growth. But I'm willing to take a chance if you are." "Then come along with me to the Mount Hope wharf, and I'll put you on my pay-roll." The weather was wiltingly hot for one fresh from a northern winter, but as Walter followed his imperturbable employer he felt the chills run up and down his spine. The sight of the havoc wrought by two boxes of dynamite was not in the least reassuring. "Here is where I get scattered all over the tropical landscape," he said to himself. "A greenhorn like me is sure to do something foolish, and if I stub my toe just once, I vanish with a large bang." He might have taken to his heels but for the soothing companionship of Mr. Naughton, who was humming the air of a popular song and seemed to have not a care in the world. Ahead of them lay a rusty tramp steamer flying a red powder-flag in her rigging. A few laborers and sailors were loafing in the shade of the warehouse. At a word from Mr. Naughton they filed on board, some to climb down into the hold, others to range themselves between an open hatch and the empty freight-cars on the wharf. Walter pulled off his shirt, gingerly tightened his belt, and took the station assigned him on deck. Presently the men below began to pass up the heavy wooden boxes from one to another until the dangerous packages came to Walter, who was instructed to help carry them to the ship's side. He eyed the first of them dubiously for a moment, took a long breath, and clasped the box to his breast, squeezing it so tightly that he was red in the face. Lifting his feet very high and setting them down with the greatest caution, he advanced with the knee action of a blue-ribbon winner in a horse-show. Quaking lest he trip or stumble, he delivered the box to the man at the gangway. The seasoned handlers chuckled, and Mr. Naughton said to the American who was checking the cargo: "I took no risks in picking up that youngster, even if he is a new hand with the powder. His nerves haven't been spoiled by rum or cigarettes. Nice, clean-built chap, isn't he? What do you think of him?" [Illustration: Lifting his feet very high and setting them down with the greatest caution] "He is no stranded loafer or he would sponge on the Americans in Colon sooner than work on the silver roll." "I shall ask him a few questions when we knock off," returned Naughton.