Since then we
have taken the census. Two men only have not appeared, and they are
Bob, the fat and overgrown feebling youth, and, of all creatures, the
Faun. It seems my fate that I had to destroy the Faun--the poor,
tortured Faun, always willing and eager, ever desirous to please.
There is a madness of ill luck in all this. Why couldn't the two
dead men have been Charles Davis and Tony the Greek? Or Bert Rhine
and Kid Twist? or Bombini and Andy Fay? Yes, and in my heart I know
I should have felt better had it been Isaac Chantz and Arthur Deacon,
or Nancy and Sundry Buyers, or Shorty and Larry.
The steward has just tendered me a respectful bit of advice.
"Next time we chuck'm overboard like Henry, much better we use old
iron."
"Getting short of coal?" I asked.
He nodded affirmation. We use a great deal of coal in our cooking,
and when the present supply gives out we shall have to cut through a
bulkhead to get at the cargo.
CHAPTER XLIX
The situation grows tense. There are no more sea-birds, and the
mutineers are starving.
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