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"An' I was goin' to roll that guy!" he muttered in helpless bewilderment. "I was a-

goin' to roll him, and now look here wot he has done to me!"

At that moment a light appeared above as the hatch was raised, and Billy saw the

feet and legs of a large man descending the ladder from above. When the

newcomer reached the floor and turned to look about his eyes met Billy's, and

Billy saw that it was his host of the previous evening.

Well, my hearty, how goes it?" asked the stranger.

You pulled it off pretty slick," said Billy.

What do you mean?" asked the other with a frown.

Come off," said Billy; "you know what I mean."

Look here," replied the other coldly. "Don't you forget that I'm mate of this ship,

an' that you want to speak respectful to me if you ain't lookin' for trouble. My

name's MR. Ward, an' when you speak to me say SIR. Understand?"

Billy scratched his head, and blinked his eyes. He never before had been spoken

to in any such fashion--at least not since he had put on the avoirdupois of

manhood. His head ached horribly and he was sick to his stomach--frightfully

sick. His mind was more upon his physical suffering than upon what the mate

was saying, so that quite a perceptible interval of time elapsed before the true

dimensions of the affront to his dignity commenced to percolate into the befogged

and pain-racked convolutions of his brain.

The mate thought that his bluster had bluffed the new hand. That was what he

had come below to accomplish. Experience had taught him that an early lesson in

discipline and subordination saved unpleasant encounters in the future. He also

had learned that there is no better time to put a bluff of this nature across than

when the victim is suffering from the after-effects of whiskey and a drug--

mentality, vitality, and courage are then at their lowest ebb. A brave man often is

reduced to the pitiful condition of a yellow dog when nausea sits astride his

stomach.

But the mate was not acquainted with Billy Byrne of Kelly's gang. Billy's brain

was befuddled, so that it took some time for an idea to wriggle its way through,

but his courage was all there, and all to the good. Billy was a mucker, a hoodlum,

a gangster, a thug, a tough. When he fought, his methods would have brought a

flush of shame to the face of His Satanic Majesty. He had hit oftener from behind

than from before. He had always taken every advantage of size and weight and

numbers that he could call to his assistance. He was an insulter of girls and

The Mucker