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Updated: May 17, 2025
"Oh," she said, with all the tonelessness of disinterest, and went on with her stitching. She must have sensed my frame of mind, for, after a moment, she paused from her sewing and looked at me. Your first sea funeral, Mr. Pathurst? "Death at sea does not seem to affect you," I said bluntly. "Not any more than on the land." She shrugged her shoulders. "So many people die, you know.
But I could not do this with the second mate. His face and form and manner and suave ease were one thing, inside which he, an entirely different thing, lay hid. I noticed Wada standing in the cabin door, evidently waiting to ask for instructions. I nodded, and prepared to follow him inside. Mr. Pike looked at me quickly and said: "Just a moment, Mr. Pathurst."
Then he asked permission to borrow one of my books, and, clinging to my bunk, selected Buchner's Force and Matter from my shelf, carefully wedging the empty space with the doubled magazine I use for that purpose. And all the time I kept wondering what was behind it all. At last it came. "By the way, Mr. Pathurst," he remarked, "do you happen to remember how many years ago Mr.
Ease her! Ease her! Ease her into the big ones, damn you! Don't let her head fall off! Steady! Where in hell did you learn to steer? What cow-farm was you raised on?" Here he bounded for'ard past us with those incredible leaps of his. "It would be good to set the mizzen-topgallant," I heard Captain West mutter in a weak, quavery voice. "Mr. Pathurst, will you please tell Mr.
Pathurst we never discuss the sailors." It was a facer to me, and with quite a pronounced fellow-feeling for Larry I hurriedly added: "It was not merely the discipline that interested me. It was the feat of strength." "Sailors are trouble enough without our hearing about them, Mr. Pathurst," Captain West went on, as evenly and imperturbably as if I had not spoken.
The second and one white oiler was all that was left below, and I was in command on deck, when we made port. The doctors wouldn't come aboard. They made me anchor in the outer roads and told me to heave out my dead. There was some tall buryin' about that time, Mr. Pathurst, and they went overboard without canvas, coal, or iron. They had to.
He paused and looked at me solemnly for a full half minute. "Mr. Pathurst, I've heard you're a writing man. And when they told me at the agents' you were going along passenger, I made a point of going to see your play. Now I'm not saying anything about that play, one way or the other. But I just want to tell you, that as a writing man you'll get stuff in plenty to write about on this voyage.
"The calm has it," Miss West said, with just a hint of grimness. "And if this keeps up I'll be in my bunk in about five minutes." She waved aside all sympathy. "Oh, don't bother about me, Mr. Pathurst. Sea-sickness is only detestable and horrid, like sleet, and muddy weather, and poison ivy; besides, I'd rather be sea-sick than have the hives."
"All right," he agreed, "I guess I'll have to let Jacobs go. What d'ye say? Are you game?" Still I hesitated, but before I could speak he anticipated me and returned to his fidelity. "No, you can't do it, Mr. Pathurst. If by any luck they got the both of us . . . No; we'll just stay aft and sit tight until they're starved to it . . . But where they get their tucker gets me.
Mellaire repeated the name aloud several times, and then hazarded: "Didn't he command the Lammermoor thirty years ago?" "That's the man." "I thought I recognized him. "Oh, the wickedness of the world, the wickedness of the world," Mr. Pike muttered as he turned and strode away. I said good-night to the second mate and had started to go below, when he called to me in a low voice, "Mr. Pathurst!"
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