"Why a week?" asked Mr. Hartley, breaking down the barrier of self-
restraint at last. "I'll tell you why. Because, although the guts
of her are so much scrap-iron, you've a crew of engineers who could
build machinery of hell-slag--build it, mind--and could get steam
out o' the Sahara, where there isn't any water at all.
"Because--conditional upon the act o' God and your permission--I'm
willing to perform a miracle. Because the whole engine-room complement
is dancing mad for shore leave, and there'll be none this side o'
Bombay; and because, in consequence o' that, creation would be a
mild name for what's about to happen under gratings until the shafts
revolve again. Man, I wish ye'd take one peep at her bearings, though
ye wouldn't understand.
"Because you're lucky; any other engineer in all the navies o' the
world would take a month to tinker with her, even if he didn't have
to send to Bombay for a tow. Because--"
"That'll do!" said Applewaite, his mind wandering already in search
of suitable employment for the crew.
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