| contributor

“ A moment later, however, the rodent was driven into the open, and Darrell popped him over with a well-aimed blow from the shoe. Even then Boote refused to descend from his perch.
“Are you sure he's dead?” he quavered, peering over the edge of the berth, his ugly face white and drawn, and beads of sweat standing out on his low forehead.
“Of course he is.” The secret-service agent picked up the creature by the tail, and tossed it out of the open port. “What are you scared about, anyhow? It's only a rat.” ”

“ He had scarcely done so, when, without the slightest warning, the cabin door was suddenly thrust open, and Billy Boote, the blazing bandanna awry over one ear, stood on the threshold, seeming to fix both men and the bag with the baleful glare of his single eye. ”

“ He glanced at Darrell, shaking his head solemnly. “Ye say only a rat, matie,” he went on, in a reproachful tone. “If you'd seen what I've seen, such words would never pass your lips. Them devils are the only critters on land or sea that I'm scart of, an' with good reason. Twenty years or more ago a mate o' mine—Joe Blunt by name, a fine, upstanding lad as you ever clapped your ridin' lights on—fired his boot at a rat in the fo'castle o' the Mary Jane brig. He only stunned it, an' went an' picked it up. It bit him, mate, right here betwixt the thumb an' forefinger.” ”