e was not a very reassuring spectacle. His face was dirty and
blood-smeared, and his collar was torn away from his throat. He closed
the door.

"Captain," he said, "we'd better have an understanding right at the
start. I'm going to be mate o' this ship for six months."

"You think you are," whispered the captain, slowly approaching a cabinet
on the wall. "You only think you are."

"Well, I been paid for it anyway," said Mr. Spokesly, examining his
wounded hand. "So we'll take it for granted. Now if you back me up, I'll
back you up. Why didn't you come out and help me when that stiff started
to make trouble?"

Captain Rannie absolutely ignored this question. He was in a corner, and
like some animals in similar plight, he might almost be said to have
feigned death. He stood stock still looking into his medicine chest, his
back to Mr. Spokesly, his high shoulders raised higher. He was in a
corner, for he had been betrayed already into the demonstration of
nervous fear. It was the knowledge of his horror of the slightest
physical contact with others that Mr. Spiteri had been unable to resist.

"He's nearly bit my thumb through," went on Mr. Spokesly, walking over
to the wash-bowl. The ship shook as the winch hurled the slings into the
air. Down below a worn pump was knocking its heart out in a succession
of hacking coughs.

Captain Rannie, the flask of friars' balsam in his hand, turned slowly
from the cabinet and moved cautiously to the table. He set it down, went
back, and drew out a roll of bandage. He was beginning to recover his
normal state of mind. Everything so far had taken the form in his view
of violating the privacy of the commander. Everything! Here was this
man, not five minutes on the ship, actually forcing his way into the
captain's room. Captain Rannie had never heard of such a thing in his
life. It loomed before him with the grimness of an irrevocable disaster.
He had always had that last resource in his encounters with Spiteri--he
could go into his room, lock all three locks, draw the heavy blue
curtain, and remain in a mysterious seclusion for as long as he liked.
Now--he almost shuddered with anguish--here was this new chief
officer--a perfect stranger--didn't know him from Adam--washing his
wounds absolutely in the sacred wash-bowl, standing in not over clean
shoes on the very piece of matting on which he himself, the master of
the vessel, stood while shaving and making stern faces at himself in