The next morning there was considerable coldness in the manner of the mate, but nothing actively malignant. He gave me no harder work to do than before, but he did not condescend to his customary gruff camaraderie. When Mr. McInerny called for me again on the following Sunday with a different rig and another pair of high steppers, Mr. Zerk became thoroughly disgusted. On Monday he called me aft just before we turned to after the washdown, and made some very sarcastic remarks about my "dude friend." "I suppose you will be getting out of the ship?" he ventured. "I have never thought of getting out," I answered. "Well, I was just thinking that you might have a chance to get out. Maybe your friends with their horses and carriages would not like to see you working too hard." "I suppose they would hate to see me work hard, seeing what an easy time I am having now." "Damn your hide, they will hate to see you work before I get through with you. Call that thick ass Scouse aft and that ---- ---- ---- ---- Joe." When these unfortunates arrived they found Mr. Zerk under a heavy pressure of bottled-up wrath. The whole silly business had so exasperated him that he fairly sizzled with madness. Heretofore his outbursts were mostly impersonal, at least they always seemed so to me; merely a part of the day's work. We were now turned over to Chips and found that he had received instructions to clean out the limbers of the ship, starting in the fore peak and working aft as the bottom of the hold was uncovered. From that time on until the ship was discharged I was kept at the most disgusting work of the voyage. Bucket after bucket of a thick sludge, the results of a previous voyage to the Orient, when the _Fuller_ loaded some filthy cargo in Hong Kong, was lifted out. Of course she was never cleaned in New York, where the crew was always discharged as soon as the hook went down, and no longshore laborer would do the work we were set to. After three days of this Joe said to me as we came up out of the hold covered with filth: "Here is where I quits. To hell with this. That rotten bull aft thinks he can work anything off on us. Some may be soft an' easy, but," and here Joe came in strong, "I can get thirty dollars a month in the coasters, an' I won't be leavin' much. To hell with the rotten skunk, says I."