"There's times for truth an' there's times for lying," murmured Harrigan, as he stowed away the bucket and brush and started down for the fireroom, "an' this was one of the times for lyin'.

He's sick for the love of her, an' he's hatin' the thought of Harrigan." So he was humming a rollicking tune when he reached the fireroom.

It was stifling hot, to be sure, but it was twice as large as that of the Mary Rogers.

The firemen were all glistening with sweat.

One of them, larger than the rest and with a bristling, shoebrush mustache like a sign of authority, said to the newcomer: "You're Harrigan ?" He nodded.
"The chief wants to see you, boss, before you start swingin' the shovel." "Where's the chief's cabin ?" "Take him up, Alex," directed the big fireman, and Harrigan followed one of the men up the narrow ladder and then aft.