As I descended the stairs, from Miss West's room came a sound of
humming and bustling, as she settled her belongings. The energy she
displayed, to judge by the cheerful noises of it, was almost
perturbing.
Passing by the pantry, I put my head inside the door to greet the
steward and courteously let him know that I was aware of his
existence. Here, in his little realm, it was plain that efficiency
reigned. Everything was spotless and in order, and I could have
wished and wished vainly for a more noiseless servant than he ashore.
His face, as he regarded me, had as little or as much expression as
the Sphinx. But his slant, black eyes were bright, with
intelligence.
"What do you think of the crew?" I asked, in order to put words to my
invasion of his castle.
"Buggy-house," he answered promptly, with a disgusted shake of the
head. "Too much buggy-house. All crazy. You see. No good.
Rotten. Down to hell."
That was all, but it verified my own judgment. While it might be
true, as Miss West had said, that every ship's crew contained several
lunatics and idiots, it was a foregone conclusion that our crew
contained far more than several.
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