"Are you coming?" demanded the young man levelly.

"Certainly not!"

Percival's shoulders sagged. His face wore an expression of complete surrender.

"Well,--if you won't, I suppose you won't," he muttered.

A triumphant sneer greeted this abject back-down on the part of the would-be dictator.

"I thought so," exclaimed Landover. "You're yellow. You can bully these poor, ignorant--"

He never finished the sentence. Percival cleared the eight or nine feet of intervening s.p.a.ce with the lunge of a panther. His solid, compact body struck Landover with the force of a battering ram. Before the larger and heavier man could fire a shot, his wrist was caught in a grip of steel. As he staggered back under the impact, Percival's right fore-arm was jammed up under his chin. In the fraction of a second, Landover, unable to withstand this sudden, savage onslaught, toppled over backwards and, with his a.s.sailant clinging to him like a wildcat, found himself pinned down to the s.p.a.cious, inset washstand.

The revolver was discharged, the bullet burying itself in the floor. An instant later the weapon fell from his paralysed fingers. With his free left hand he struck wildly, frantically at Percival, but with no effect.

The broad back and shoulders of his a.s.sailant proved a barrier he could not drive past. And that rigid, merciless right arm, as hard as a bar of steel, was pressing relentlessly against his throat, crushing, choking the life out of him. He was a strong, vigorous man, but he was helpless in the grasp of this tigerish young fighter from the slopes of the Andes. He heard Percival's voice, panting in his ear.

"I can keep this up longer than you can. I don't want to break your neck,--do you understand? I don't want to break your neck, Landover, but if you don't give in, I'll--I'll--" The pressure slackened perceptibly.

"Say it! Now's your chance. Say you've--got enough!"

Landover managed to gasp out the word. He could still feel his eyes starting from his head, his tongue seemed to fill his mouth completely.

Percival released him instantly and fell back a yard or so, ready, however, to spring upon his man again at the first sign of treachery. No more than sixty seconds elapsed between the beginning and the end of the encounter. It was all over in the twinkling of an eye, so to speak. In fact, it was over so quickly that the first man to reach the door after the report of the revolver rang out, found the two men facing each other, one coughing and clutching at his throat, the other erect and menacing. For the first time, Percival took his eyes from the purplish face of the banker. They fell first upon a head and pair of shoulders that blocked one of the two port-holes. He recognized the countenance of Soapy Shay, the thief. To his amazement, Soapy grinned and then winked at him!

"The boat is ready to leave, Landover," said the victor briskly. "We have no more use for this thing at present," he went on, shoving the revolver under the berth with the toe of his boot. The banker stared past him at the agitated group in the corridor. The man was trembling like a leaf, not so much from fear as from the effects of the tremendous physical shock.

Percival was a generous foe. He experienced a sudden pity,--a rush of consideration for the other's feelings. He saw the tears of rage and mortification well up in the eyes of the banker, he heard the half-suppressed sob that broke from his lips. Whirling, he ordered the crowd away from the door. "It's all right," he said. "Please leave us."

He addressed Soapy Shay. "Beat it, you!"

Soapy saluted with mock servility. "Aye, aye, sir. I saw the whole show.

It was certainly worth the price of admission." Having delivered himself of that graceful acknowledgment, he effaced himself.

"Just a word or two, Mr. Landover," said Percival as the crowd shuffled away from the door. "I am sorry this had to happen. Even now I am not sure that you fully understand the situation. You may still be inclined to resist. You are not in the habit of submitting to force, reason or justice. I am only asking you, however, to recognize the last of these.

You will be happier in the end. I don't give a hang how much you hate me, nor how far you may go to depose me. I don't want your friendship any more than I want your enmity. I can get along very nicely without either. But that isn't the point. At present I am in charge of a gang of workmen. Every man on this ship belongs to that gang, you with the rest.

I ask you to look at the matter fairly, honestly, open-mindedly. You accuse me of being high-handed. I return the charge. It's you who are high-handed. You set yourself above your fellow-unfortunates. You refuse to abide by the will of the majority. I represent the majority. I am not acting for myself, but for them. G.o.d knows, I am not looking for trouble. This job isn't one that I would have chosen voluntarily. But now that it has been thrust upon me, I have no other alternative than to see it through. You ought to be man enough, you ought to be fair enough to see it in that light. If conditions were reversed, Mr. Landover, and you were in my place, I would be the last to oppose you, because I have learned in a very tough school that it pays to live up to the regulations. Everywhere else in the world it is a question of capital and labour. Here it is a question of labour alone. There is no such thing as capital. Socialism is forced upon us, the purest kind of socialism, for even the socialist can't get rich at the expense of his neighbour. But I'm beginning to lecture again. Let's get down to cases.

Are you prepared to go out peaceably,--I'll not say willingly,--and do your share on the job as long as you are physically able?"

"I submit to brute force. There is no other course left open to me,"

said Landover hoa.r.s.ely.

"Very well, then. Come along,--we're wasting valuable time here."

"I will follow you in a few minutes."

"You will come now," said Percival levelly. "You and I, Mr. Landover, are jointly concerned in the establishment of a very definite order of discipline. We represent the two extremes." He stood aside. "Precede me, if you please."

After a moment's hesitation, the other lifted his chin and walked past the young man. The corridors were clear. Percival followed close behind.

He kept up a glib, one-sided conversation.

"You see, there was no other way to handle you. I was obliged to resort to punitive measures. That's always the case when you are dealing with sensible, intelligent, educated men. It is impossible to reason with an intelligent, educated man. He invariably has opinions, ideas, viewpoints of his own. He is mentally equipped to resist any kind of an argument.

Take our United States Senators, our Congressmen, even our Presidents.

You can't reason with them. No doubt you've tried it a thousand times, you and the other capitalists. We've all tried it. You've got to hit 'em on the head with some sort of a club or big stick if you want to bring 'em to time. You have to club them to death at the polls, so to speak.

Now, you take these wops. They can't argue. They haven't got that sort of intelligence. They're considerably like the common or garden variety of dog. No matter how much you beat them and scold them, you can always get along with them if you feed them and let them see that you're not afraid of them. If they once get an idea that you are afraid of them,--well, it's all off. They begin to be sensible right away, and then they form a labour union. And the more sensible and intelligent they become, the easier it is for the labour leaders, the walking delegates, and blood-sucking agitators to make fools of 'em. It's all a matter of leadership, Mr. Landover, as you will admit, any way you look at it. Well, here we are."

Landover paused before starting down the ladder to the boat. He turned to address Percival in a loud, clear voice.

"You will not long be in a position to browbeat and bully the rest of us, young man. Your reign will be short. I would like my fellow-pa.s.sengers to know that I have never refused to work with them.

I have merely declined to work under an outlaw. Life is as dear to me as it is to any one else on this ship. I am taking this step against my will, rather than subject myself to further indignities and the cruelties you would inflict if I held out against you. I am sorry to deprive you of the spectacular hit you might have made by throwing me into the sea, a treat which you doubtless led all of these people to expect."

He climbed down the ladder and dropped into the boat. As he took his seat, he ran his eye along the line of faces above. Finding the persons he sought, he smiled, shook his head slowly to signify a state of resignation, and then set his flushed, angry face toward the land.

Percival, following him, did not look up at the row of faces.

Careni-Amori sang that evening in the main saloon. Signer Joseppi, tired and sore after his hard day's work, wept, and after weeping as publicly as possible created a profound sensation by kissing the great prima-donna in full view of the applauding spectators. Then, to cap the climax, he proclaimed in a voice charged with emotion that Madame Careni-Amori never had sung better in all her life! This to an artist who had the rare faculty for knowing when she was off the key,--and who knew that she was very badly off on this particular occasion.

Percival was standing near the door as Ruth Clinton and her aunt left the saloon on the way to their rooms. He joined them after a moment's hesitation. The two ladies bowed coldly to him. He was the essence of decision. As usual, he went straight to the point.

"I can't take back what I did this morning, and I wouldn't if I could,"

he said, falling in beside Mrs. Spofford. "I know you are displeased with me. Can't we thresh it out now, Mrs. Spofford?"

The elder woman raised her chin and stared at him coldly. He shot a glance past her at the girl's face. There was no encouragement to be found in the calm, unsmiling eyes.

"I fail to see precisely why we should thresh anything out with you, Mr.

Percival," replied Mrs. Spofford.

"It is barely possible that you are not quite clear as to my motives, and therefore unable to gauge my actions."

"I understand your motives perfectly,--and I approve of them. Your actions are not so acceptable. Good-night, Mr. Percival."

He smiled whimsically at Ruth. "My left hand is rather in need of attention, Miss Clinton. I suppose I am so deeply in your bad graces that I may not hope for--er--the same old kindness?"

She stopped short. "Is this a request or a command? Mr. Percival, I will be quite frank with you. Mr. Landover is our friend. I am not, however, defending him in the position he has taken. There is no reason why he should not do his share with the rest of the men. But was it necessary to humiliate him, was it necessary to insult him as you did this morning? He is a distinguished man. He--"

"Are you coming, Ruth?" demanded Mrs. Spofford, sharply.

"In just a moment, Aunt Julia."

"You will oblige me by coming with me at once. We have nothing more to say to this young man."

"I have asked him a question. I shall wait for his answer."

"I will answer it, Miss Clinton, by saying it was necessary," said he steadily. "There are other distinguished men here who are further distinguishing themselves by toeing the mark without complaint or cavil.

Mr. Landover was appealed to on three distinct occasions by Captain Trigger and the committee. He ignored all private appeals--and commands.

The time had come for a show-down. It was either Landover and his little band of sycophants, or me and the entire company of men on this ship.

It may interest you to know that you and Mrs. Spofford are the only two people on board, outside of Mr. Landover's retrievers, who blame me for what I did this morning."

"You can hardly expect me to be interested in what other people think of my position, Mr. Percival," she said, raising her eyebrows slightly.

"No more, I dare say, than Landover cares what they think of his," was his retort.