Page:Cruise of the Dry Dock.djvu/22

 It always embarrassed him to be forced to reject friendly overtures.

“Sorry,” he shook his head; “don't use it. But the wish goes.”

The Englishman looked his surprise. “Then, if you don't object—” he lifted pale brows.

“Certainly not; do as you like.”

Smith tossed the capful down his throat. “You know, I've met several Americans,” he commented more warmly, “and half of them don't use alcoholics. Strange thing—can't fancy why.”

Madden went into no explanation. They were nearing the dock by this time and their boatman began a hoarse calling for some one on board to toss a line.

It was like shouting for a man in a city block. The basal pontoon rose twelve feet above their heads; beyond this towered the thick side walls spanned by the bridge. The waterline of the whole dock was painted a bright red, some four feet high, and above this rose an expanse of raw black iron, punctuated with long rows of shining rivet heads.

The boatman was rowing at top speed and