curacies of the self-read man, and, it must be granted,
the sureness and directness of the primitive mind. The very simplicity
of his reasoning was its strength, and his materialism was far more
compelling than the subtly complex materialism of Charley Furuseth. Not
that I--a confirmed and, as Furuseth phrased it, a temperamental
idealist--was to be compelled; but that Wolf Larsen stormed the last
strongholds of my faith with a vigour that received respect, while not
accorded conviction.

Time passed. Supper was at hand and the table not laid. I became
restless and anxious, and when Thomas Mugridge glared down the
companion-way, sick and angry of countenance, I prepared to go about my
duties. But Wolf Larsen cried out to him:

"Cooky, you've got to hustle to-night. I'm busy with Hump, and you'll do
the best you can without him."

And again the unprecedented was established. That night I sat at table
with the captain and the hunters, while Thomas Mugridge waited on us and
washed the dishes afterward--a whim, a Caliban-mood of Wolf Larsen's, and
one I foresaw would bring me trouble. In the meantime we talked and
talked, much to the disgust of the hunters, who could not understand a
word.

CHAPTER IX

Three days of rest, three blessed days of rest, are what I had with Wolf
Larsen, eating at the cabin table and doing nothing but discuss life,
literature, and the universe, the while Thomas Mugridge fumed and raged
and did my work as well as his own.

"Watch out for squalls, is all I can say to you," was Louis's warning,
given during a spare half-hour on deck while Wolf Larsen was engaged in
straightening out a row among the hunters.

"Ye can't tell what'll be happenin'," Louis went on, in response to my
query for more definite information. "The man's as contrary as air
currents or water currents. You can never guess the ways iv him. 'Tis
just as you're thinkin' you know him and are makin' a favourable slant
along him, that he whirls around, dead ahead and comes howlin' down upon
you and a-rippin' all iv your fine-weather sails to rags."

So I was not altogether surprised when the squall foretold by Louis smote
me. We had been having a heated discussion,--upon life, of course,--and,
grown over-bold, I was passing stiff strictures upon Wolf Larsen and the
life of Wolf Larsen. In fact, I was vivisecting him and turning over his
soul-stuff as keenly and thoroughly as it was his custom to do it to
o