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 they call the Champion o' the China Squadron."

"Thanks," said Owen; then added stiffly—"It doesn't affect my offer."

"That's the ticket!" cried a voice, hearty though nasal. "That's the way to talk to 'em, mister." A tall young man, with a lean, hard face of the American type, clapped him on the shoulder. "Say, take me for your second? That's the ticket! Oh Boy! bring towels, savee?"

Working with seamanlike despatch, they dragged the tables aside, and placed the lamps in safety. As Owen stripped to the waist in a corner, his second maintained a friendly chatter. "Say, you're an American, ain't you? I spotted you right off. So'm I,—born in Salem, Mass'—third on the 'Lambert'—oil-ship. Here, take my deck-shoes—keep you from slippin', see?" He felt Owen's shoulder