There was some tall buryin' about that
time, Mr. Pathurst, and they went overboard without canvas, coal, or
iron. They had to. I had nobody to help me, and the Chinks below
wouldn't lift a hand.
"I had to go down myself, drag the bodies on to the slings, then
climb on deck and heave them up with the donkey. And each trip I
took a drink. I was pretty drunk when the job was done."
"And you never caught it yourself?" I queried. Mr. Mellaire held up
his left hand. I had often noted that the index finger was missing.
"That's all that happened to me, sir. The old man'd had a fox-
terrier like yours. And after the old man passed out the puppy got
real, chummy with me. Just as I was making the hoist of the last
sling-load, what does the puppy do but jump on my leg and sniff my
hand. I turned to pat him, and the next I knew my other hand had
slipped into the gears and that finger wasn't there any more.
"Heavens!" I cried. "What abominable luck to come through such a
terrible experience like that and then lose your finger!"
"That's what I thought, sir," Mr.
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