Dan's hat was off and his red-gold hair was flying wild; his teeth were
bared. He was always thus in a fight. This was one; a dandy--a
clinker! He gave the wheel another spoke and the _Fledgling_ slued
across a sea and smashed down hard. From below came a sliding rattle,
a great crash of crockery, and then a series of imprecations. The next
instant Arthur M'Gill, the steward, dashed up the companionway and
burst into the pilot-house.
"Doggone it all, Cap'n!" yelled the angry man, "why in hell don't ye
let me know when ye're goin' to sling 'er across seas? Here I had the
table all set fur breakfast, an' ye put 'er inter a grayback afore I
could hold on to anything; and smash goes the hull mess on the
floor--plates, forks, vittles. Holee mackerel!" he exclaimed under
increasing impulse of anger, "what am I?--a steward, or a--or a monkey?"
Dan, clutching grimly at the wheel, turned a genial smile upon his cook.
"Sorry, old man. Fact is, I forgot. But never mind. Pick up the best
you can." He smiled again. "Just a little bit dusty out here, eh,
Arthur?"
"That's what it is, Cap'n," replied Arthur, mollified by Dan's words of
regret.
The steward looked at Dan admiringly. In a way he was the skipper's
father confessor, not alone because he had a glib, advising tongue, but
because he was possessed of a certain amount of raw, psychological
instinct and knew his Shakespeare and could quote from Young's "Night
Thoughts.
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