Macdonald?" asked the captain.
"Hurt! Not at all, Captain. I cut myself while I was shaving this
morning--just a scratch," was the ironic answer.
"There's been some dirty work going on. I'll see the men are punished,
sir."
"Forget it, Captain. I'll attend to that little matter." His jaunty,
almost insolent glance made the half-circle again. "Sorry you were too
late for the party, gentlemen,--most of you. I see three or four of you
who were 'among those present.' It was a strictly exclusive affair. And
now, if you don't mind, I'll say good-night."
He turned on his heel, went up the stairway to the deck above, and
disappeared into his stateroom.
The rescued miner, propped against the cabin wall where he had been
placed, broke into sudden excited protest. "Ach! He tried to drown me.
Mein head--he hold it under the water."
"Ain't that just like a Swede?" retorted the mate in disgust. "Mac saves
his life. Then the roughneck kicks because he got a belly full of Yukon.
Sure Mac soused him some. Why shouldn't he?"
"I ain't no Swede," explained the big miner sullenly.
The mate did not think it worth his while to explain that "Swede" was
merely his generic term of contempt for all foreigners.
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