t."

Mr. Powell admitted openly that he had not thought of that. He was ready
to admit that it was very reprehensible of him. But Franklin had no
intention apparently to moralize. He did not fall silent either. His
further remarks were to the effect that there had been a time when
Captain Anthony would have showed more than enough concern for the least
thing happening to one of his officers. Yes, there had been a time!

"And mind," he went on, laying down suddenly a half-consumed piece of
bread and butter and raising his voice, "poor Mathews was the second man
the longest on board. I was the first. He joined a month later--about
the same time as the steward by a few days. The bo'sun and the carpenter
came the voyage after. Steady men. Still here. No good man need ever
have thought of leaving the _Ferndale_ unless he were a fool. Some good
men are fools. Don't know when they are well off. I mean the best of
good men; men that you would do anything for. They go on for years, then
all of a sudden--"

Our young friend listened to the mate with a queer sense of discomfort
growing on him. For it was as though Mr. Franklin were thinking aloud,
and putting him into the delicate position of an unwilling eavesdropper.
But there was in the mess-room another listener. It was the steward, who
had come in carrying a tin coffee-pot with a long handle, and stood
quietly by: a man with a middle-aged, sallow face, long features, heavy
eyelids, a soldierly grey moustache. His body encased in a short black
jacket with narrow sleeves, his long legs in very tight trousers, made up
an agile, youthful, slender figure. He moved forward suddenly, and
interrupted the mate's monologue.

"More coffee, Mr. Franklin? Nice fresh lot. Piping hot. I am going to
give breakfast to the saloon directly, and the cook is raking his fire
out. Now's your chance."

The mate who, on account of his peculiar build, could not turn his head
freely, twisted his thick trunk slightly, and ran his black eyes in the
corners towards the steward.

"And is the precious pair of them out?" he growled.

The steward, pouring out the coffee into the mate's cup, muttered moodily
but distinctly: "The lady wasn't when I was laying the table."

Powell's ears were fine enough to detect something hostile in this
reference to the captain's wife. For of what other person could they be
speaking? The steward added with a gloomy sort of fairness: "But she
w