Campbell, in the manner of a musical critic of some skill, leaned back in a chair with his brawny arms folded behind his head and his eyes half closed.
Harrigan, tilted back in a chair, rested his feet on the edge of a small table and swept the guitar which lay on his lap.

In the midst of a high note he saw the ominous pair standing in the door, and the music died abruptly on his lips.
He rose to his feet and nudged Campbell at the same time.

The latter opened his eyes and, glimpsing the unwelcome visitors, sprang up, gasping, stammering.
"What?
Come in! Don't be standing there, Cap'n Henshaw.

Come in and sit down!" In spite of his bluster his red face was growing blotched with patches of gray.

Harrigan, less moved than any of the others, calmly replaced the guitar in its green cloth case.
"I sent this fellow down to be put at hard work," said Henshaw, and waited.
It was obvious to Harrigan that the chief engineer was in mortal fear.
He himself felt strangely ill at ease as he looked at White Henshaw with his skin yellow as Egyptian papyrus from a tomb.
"Just a minute, captain," began the engineer.