"You look as though you'd 'ad one too many already."
"I ain't," declared the fireman, who appeared to be in a semi-
dazed condition. "I ain't 'ad one since ten o'clock last night.
It's dope wot's got me, not rum."
"Dope!" said Harley sharply; "been 'avin' a pipe, eh?"
"If you've got a corpse-reviver anywhere," continued the man in
that curious, husky voice, "'ave pity on me, mate. I seen a
thing to-night wot give me the jim-jams."
"All right, old son," said my friend good-humouredly; "about
turn! I've got a drop in the bottle, but me an' my mate sails
to-morrow, an' it's the last."
"Gawd bless yer!" growled the fireman; and the three of us--an
odd trio, truly--turned about, retracing our steps.
As we approached the street lamp and its light shone upon the
haggard face of the man walking between us, Harley stopped, and:
"Wot's up with yer eye?" he inquired.
He suddenly tilted the man's head upward and peered closely into
one of his eyes. I suppressed a gasp of surprise for I instantly
recognized the fireman of the Jupiter!
"Nothin' up with it, is there?" said the fireman.
"Only a lump o' mud," growled Harley, and with a very dirty
handkerchief he pretended to remove the imaginary stain, and
then, turning to me:
"Open the door, Jim," he directed.
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