"The calm has it," Miss West said, with just a hint of grimness.
"And if this keeps up I'll be in my bunk in about five minutes."
She waved aside all sympathy. "Oh, don't bother about me, Mr.
Pathurst. Sea-sickness is only detestable and horrid, like sleet,
and muddy weather, and poison ivy; besides, I'd rather be sea-sick
than have the hives."
Something went wrong with the men below us on the deck, some
stupidity or blunder that was made aware to us by Mr. Mellaire's
raised voice. Like Mr. Pike, he had a way of snarling at the sailors
that was distinctly unpleasant to the ear.
On the faces of several of the sailors bruises were in evidence.
One, in particular, had an eye so swollen that it was closed.
"Looks as if he had run against a stanchion in the dark," I observed.
Most eloquent, and most unconscious, was the quick flash of Miss
West's eyes to Mr. Pike's big paws, with freshly abraded knuckles,
resting on the rail. It was a stab of hurt to me. SHE KNEW.
CHAPTER X
That evening the three men of us had dinner alone, with racks on the
table, while the Elsinore rolled in the calm that had sent Miss West
to her room.
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