ht, at his
trade, be as good as the cook. Then the two sailmakers, whom I had not
yet seen, might prove up.

A little later during the meal I ventured to talk about what had
interested me and aroused my admiration, namely, the masterfulness with
which Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire had gripped hold of that woeful,
worthless crew. It was all new to me, I explained, but I appreciated the
need of it. As I led up to the occurrence on Number Two hatch, when Mr.
Pike had lifted up Larry and toppled him back with a mere slap from the
ends of his fingers, I saw in Mr. Pike's eyes a warning, almost
threatening, expression. Nevertheless, I completed my description of the
episode.

When I had quite finished there was a silence. Miss West was busy
serving coffee from a copper percolator. Mr. Pike, profoundly occupied
with cracking walnuts, could not quite hide the wicked, little,
half-humorous, half-revengeful gleam in his eyes. But Captain West
looked straight at me, but from oh! such a distance--millions and
millions of miles away. His clear blue eyes were as serene as ever, his
tones as low and soft.

"It is the one rule I ask to be observed, 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. "I leave the handling of the sailors to my officers. That's
their business, and they are quite aware that I tolerate no undeserved
roughness or severity."

Mr. Pike's harsh face carried the faintest shadow of an amused grin as he
stolidly regarded the tablecloth. I glanced to Miss West for sympathy.
She laughed frankly, and said:

"You see, father never has any sailors. And it's a good plan, too."

"A very good plan," Mr. Pike muttered.

Then Miss West kindly led the talk away from that subject, and soon had
us laughing with a spirited recital of a recent encounter of hers with a
Boston cab-driver.

Dinner over, I stepped to my room in quest of cigarettes, and
incidentally asked Wada about the cook. Wada was always a great gatherer
of information.

"His name Louis," he said. "He Chinaman, too. No; only half Chinaman.
Other half Englishman. You know one island Napoleon he stop long time
and bim