There was almost perfect silence over the great structure below him,
save for the slow creaking of new joints in the iron plates, the
softened chough-choughing of the tug ahead.
There were several paint barrels piled up on the bridge, slung there no
doubt by machinery, to prevent the men having to toil up with it from
below. The boy leaned against one of these barrels, gazing into the
yellow flood of light that bathed everything in its own saffron. His
heart beat high with a feeling of the hazard of the ocean. He tried
to fancy what would happen to the huge dock as it adventured through
tropic seas. His imagination readily conjured up a kaleidoscope of
incidents--cannibal proas, shark fights, sea serpents, typhoons,
mutinies, what not.
And at every turn of the tug's propeller all this bright dashing world
of adventure drew nearer and nearer. For some reason he recalled what
the bystander on the dock had said--"Everything is unreasonable at sea,"
and he laughed aloud.
As a sort of gloomy echo of his laugh, his ear caught a groan from the
other side of the paint barrels. With the utmost surprise and curiosity,
he straightened up and moved silently around the pile.
Then he saw the tall Englishman leaning across the bridge rail, face in
hands, staring at the line of land silhouetted in black between the
brazen sky and the reflecting water.
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