ish his fists and scream,
in a nasal whisper. "It's safe to kick you," he said. "A woman
could do it."

"But----" Conroy flustered vaguely.

Slade drove him off with a wave of his arm and turned away with the
abruptness of a man disgusted beyond bearing.

Conroy stared after him and saw him pick up his broom where he had
dropped it and join the others. His intelligence limped; his
thrashing had stunned him, and he could not think--he could only
feel, like fire in his mind, the passion of the feeble soul resenting
injustice and pain which it cannot resist or avenge. He stooped to
pick up his knife and went forward to the tub under the head-pump, to
wash his cuts in cold sea-water, the cheap balm for so many wrongs of
cheap humanity.

It was an accident such as might serve to dedicate the day to the
service of the owners of the Villingen. It was early and sudden; but,
save in these respects, it had no character of the unusual. The men
who plied the brooms and carried the buckets were not shocked or
startled by it so much as stimulated; it thrust under their noses the
always imminent danger of failing to satisfy the mate's ideal of
seaman-like efficiency. They woke to a fresher energy, a more
desperate haste, under its suggestion.

It was after the coffee interval, which mitigates the sourness of the
morning watch, when daylight had brought its chill, grey light to the
wide, wet decks, that the mate came forward to superintend the "pull
all round," which is the ritual sequel to washing down.

"Lee fore-brace, dere!" his flat, voluminous voice ordered, heavy
with the man's potent and dreaded personality. They flocked to obey,
scurrying like scared rats, glancing at him in timid hate. He came
striding along the weather side of the deck from the remote, august
poop; he was like a dreadful god making a dreadful visitation upon
his faithful. Short-legged, tending to bigness in the belly, bearded,
vibrant with animal force and personal power, his mere presence cowed
them. His gross face, the happy face of an egoist with a sound
digestion, sent its lofty and sure regard over them; it had a kind of
unconsciousness of their sense of humility, of their wrong and
resentment--the innocence of an aloof and distant tyrant, who has not
dreamed how hurt flesh quivers and seared minds rankle. He was bland
and terrible; and they hated him after their several manners, some
with dull tear, one or two--and Slade among them--with a fero