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 spirits reeked over the tug as if someone had sprinkled her deck with liquor.

Madden looked with anxious eyes for Caradoc, but did not see him. Smith was probably stuck away in some hole, senseless with poison, his effort at sobriety frustrated, his moral courage shattered, his weeks of painful reform smashed.

Whatever humor there might have been in the ill-starred situation was destroyed for Madden by his friend's moral relapse. It was much as if some invalid, nursing a broken leg, should fall and break it over again.

Gaskin was the first man who came in reach of the wrathful American. Madden caught his arm, whirled him about.

“You ladle rum out to these hogs?” he blazed.

Gaskin revolved with dignity and considered his accuser. “You wouldn't think Hi'd do such a thing, sor!”

“Then how did they get it?” Leonard shook the fat arm sharply.

“In spite o' me, sor! In spite o' me!” defended the cook, shaking his fat jowls