Yet he admits
dolefully that Shorty is looking fleshed-up.
But to return. Mr. Pike had just relieved me yesterday afternoon,
when the second mate climbed the forecastle-head and sauntered to the
very eyes of the Elsinore, where he stood gazing overside.
"Take a crack at 'm," Mr. Pike said.
It was a long shot, and I was taking slow and careful aim, when he
touched my arm.
"No; don't," he said.
I lowered the little rifle and looked at him inquiringly.
"You might hit him," he explained. "And I want him for myself."
Life is never what we expect it to be. All our voyage from Baltimore
south to the Horn and around the Horn has been marked by violence and
death. And now that it has culminated in open mutiny there is no
more violence, much less death. We keep to ourselves aft, and the
mutineers keep to themselves for'ard. There is no more harshness, no
more snarling and bellowing of commands; and in this fine weather a
general festival obtains.
Aft, Mr. Pike and Margaret alternate with phonograph and piano; and
for'ard, although we cannot see them, a full-fledged "foo-foo" band
makes most of the day and night hideous.
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