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Elisha Cuthbert Photos Books: Martin Eden The Pickwick Papers The Sea Wolf |
do you say? And mind you, its for your own souls sake. It
will be the making of you. You might learn in time to stand on
your own legs, and perhaps to toddle along a bit."
But I took no notice. The sails of the vessel I had seen off to
the south-west had grown larger and plainer. They were of the same
schooner-rig as the Ghost, though the hull itself, I could see, was
smaller. She was a pretty sight, leaping and flying toward us, and
evidently bound to pass at close range. The wind had been
momentarily increasing, and the sun, after a few angry gleams, had
disappeared. The sea had turned a dull leaden grey and grown
rougher, and was now tossing foaming whitecaps to the sky. We were
travelling faster, and heeled farther over. Once, in a gust, the
rail dipped under the sea, and the decks on that side were for the
moment awash with water that made a couple of the hunters hastily
lift their feet.
"That vessel will soon be passing us," I said, after a moments
pause. "As she is going in the opposite direction, she is very
probably bound for San Francisco."
"Very probably," was Wolf Larsens answer, as he turned partly away
from me and cried out, "Cooky! Oh, Cooky!"
The Cockney popped out of the galley.
"Wheres that boy? Tell him I want him."
"Yes, sir;" and Thomas Mugridge fled swiftly aft and disappeared
down another companion-way near the wheel. A moment later he
emerged, a heavy-set young fellow of eighteen or nineteen, with a
glowering, villainous countenance, trailing at his heels.
"Ere e is, sir," the cook said.
But Wolf Larsen ignored that worthy, turning at once to the cabin-
boy.
"Whats your name, boy?
"George Leach, sir," came the sullen answer, and the boys bearing
showed clearly that he divined the reason for which he had been
summoned.
"Not an Irish name," the captain snapped sharply. "OToole or
McCarthy would suit your mug a damn sight better. Unless, very
likely, theres an Irishman in your mothers woodpile."
I saw the young fellows hands clench at the insult, and the blood
crawl scarlet up his neck.
"But let that go," Wolf Larsen continued. "You may have very good
reasons for forgetting your name, and Ill like you none the worse
for it as long as you toe the mark. Telegraph Hill, of course, is
your port of entry. It sticks out all over your mug. Tough as
they make them and twice as nasty. I know the kind. Well, you can
make up your mind to have it taken out of you on this craft.
Understand? Who shipped you, anyway?"
"McCready and Swanson."
"Sir!" Wolf Larsen thundered.
"McCready and Swanson, sir," the boy corrected, his eyes burning
with a bitter light.
"Who got the advance money?"
"They did, sir."
"I thought as much. And damned glad you were to let them have it.
Couldnt make yourself scarce too quick, with several gentlemen you
may have heard of looking for you."
The boy metamorphosed into a savage on the instant. His body
bunched together as though for a spring, and his face became as an
infuriated beasts as he snarled, "Its a--"
"A what?" Wolf Larsen asked, a peculiar softness in his voice, as
though he were overwhelmingly curious to hear the unspoken word.
The boy hesitated, then mastered his temper. "Nothin, sir. I
take it back."
"And you have shown me I was right." This with a gratified smile.
"How old are you?"
"Just turned sixteen, sir,"
"A lie. Youll never see eighteen again. Big for your age at
that, with muscles like a horse. Pack up your kit and go forard
into the focsle. Youre a boat-puller now. Youre promoted;
see?"
Without waiting for the boys acceptance, the captain turned to the
sailor who had just finished the gruesome task of sewing up the
corpse. "Johansen, do you know anything about navigation?"
"No, sir,"
"Well, never mind; youre mate just the same. Get your traps aft
into the mates berth."
"Ay, ay, sir," was the cheery response, as Johansen started
forward.
In the meantime the erstwhile cabin-boy had not moved. "What are
you waiting for?" Wolf Larsen demanded.
"I didnt sign for boat-puller, sir," was the reply. "I signed for
cabin-boy. An I dont want no boat-pullin in mine."
"Pack up and go forard."
This time Wolf Larsens command The Sea Wolf page 10 The Sea Wolf page 12 |