,
the man who had spoken to me before told me what had happened. He
was a stocky little chap, with a red head.

"Well," he said, "there isn't much to tell. Jack Benton had been
eating his supper with the rest of us. He always sits at the
after corner of the table, on the port side. His brother used to
sit at the end, next him. The doctor gave him a thundering big
piece of pie to finish up with, and when he had finished he
didn't stop for a smoke, but went off quick to relieve the wheel.
Just as he had gone, the doctor came in from the galley, and when
he saw Jack's empty plate he stood stock still staring at it; and
we all wondered what was the matter, till we looked at the plate.
There were two forks in it, sir, lying side by side. Then the
doctor grabbed his knife, and flew up through the hatch like a
rocket. The other fork was there all right, Mr. Torkeldsen, for
we all saw it and handled it; and we all had our own. That's all
I know."

I didn't feel that I wanted to laugh when he told me that story;
but I hoped the old man wouldn't hear it, for I knew he wouldn't
believe it, and no captain that ever sailed likes to have
stories like that going round about his ship. It gives her a bad
name. But that was all anybody ever saw except the cook, and he
isn't the first man who has thought he saw things without having
any drink in him. I think, if the doctor had been weak in the
head as he was afterwards, he might have done something foolish
again, and there might have been serious trouble. But he didn't.
Only, two or three times I saw him looking at Jack Benton in a
queer, scared way, and once I heard him talking to himself.

"There's two of them! So help me God, there's two of them!"

He didn't say anything more about asking for his discharge, but I
knew well enough that if he got ashore at the next port we should
never see him again, if he had to leave his kit behind him, and
his money, too. He was scared all through, for good and all; and
he wouldn't be right again till he got another ship. It's no use
to talk to a man when he gets like that, any more than it is to
send a boy to the main truck when he has lost his nerve.

Jack Benton never spoke of what happened that evening. I don't
know whether he knew about the two forks, or not; or whether he
understood what the trouble was. Whatever he knew from the other
men, he was evidently living under a hard strain. He was quiet
enough, and too quiet; but his face was