Pike or Mr. Mellaire. They were never taken off their feet. They
never shrank away from a splash of spray or heavier bulk of down-
falling water. They had fed on different food, were informed with a
different spirit, were of iron in contrast with the poor miserables
they drove to their bidding.
In the afternoon I dozed for half-an-hour in one of the big chairs in
the cabin. Had it not been for the violent motion of the ship I
could have slept there for hours, for the hives did not trouble.
Captain West, stretched out on the cabin sofa, his feet in carpet
slippers, slept enviably. By some instinct, I might say, in the deep
of sleep, he kept his place and was not rolled off upon the floor.
Also, he lightly held a half-smoked cigar in one hand. I watched him
for an hour, and knew him to be asleep, and marvelled that he
maintained his easy posture and did not drop the cigar.
After dinner there was no phonograph. The second dog-watch was Mr.
Pike's on deck. Besides, as he explained, the rolling was too
severe. It would make the needle jump and scratch his beloved
records.
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