Keighley turned to his pipe. “Relieved be damned! I’m responsible fer
this boat, an’ I’ll take her back to her berth.” He threw the stream
down to strike the wall again, and shouted, “If we lay here feedin’
yer water towers till the fire drops the side of a house on us, where
d’ yuh s’pose we’ll be? We got water to smash it in now. We won’t have
it when we’re pumpin’ yer six lines full, will we? There’s time enough
to stretch in after them bricks is down. Look out, there!”
A section of the weakened wall, taken in the middle, broke and dropped
on itself like a curtain. Half the roof collapsed and bore down the
upper floors; and the stream, striking free on the ruin, began to pick
it down, course by course, as Keighley laid the pipe to it.
He did not so much as glance at Moran again. In the excitement of his
work, he appeared to have brushed aside the quarrel from his thoughts
as he would have brushed aside any man who got in his way at such a
time. It was a manner that made all blustering insistence of authority
impossible to Moran. He waited for the opportunity to reassert himself.
“All right!” Keighley shouted, at last. “Shut her off.”
The stream weakened, fell, and ceased. Keighley turned the searchlight
on the street and called, “All right. Now put her back where she was!”
He dropped down the wheelhouse ladder and ran aft as the boat drew up
again at the foot of the street.
Moran stood a moment, the jaw muscle working in his cheek. Then he went
ashore in grim silence.
It was a silence that promised him satisfaction in the morning, when
Keighley should be notified that he was relieved of his command.
“Shine” chuckled as he dragged on his line. “Moran got _his_ dose, I
guess.”
Farley replied, “There’s trouble in it fer th’ ol’ man, though.”
“Shine” retorted, in his turn, “Don’t _you_ worry!”