"
"What's that?" frowned Smith. "That sounds like Yankee smartness to
me--seems to make a great deal more sense than it really does."
"Anyway, I don't want to rat on you fellows, just because Malone left me
in charge for a day or so."
Caradoc made no answer, but stared after the rowboat which was just
rounding into the tug. "If I'd played up to that officer a bit," he
smiled dourly, "I could have had the mate's berth, Madden."
The American glanced up. The Englishman's smile recalled the look
Leonard had seen under the bracket lamp.
"Well, there's very little in it for anyone, I'm thinking."
"Certainly, certainly," Smith shrugged a broad shoulder and the subject
was dismissed.
The blustery weather increased steadily, and by lunch time the wind was
blowing half a gale. Regiments of waves marched against the dock and
snapped spray high up the red sides. Their constant blows rang through
the big iron structure. A feeling of security came to Madden as he saw
the gray-green waves break white, and yet not shake the huge barge
sufficiently to tip the paint from the men's buckets. Certainly the dock
was monstrous.
The sea grew rougher as evening wore on and finally the boy went to the
mate's cabin to pick out his men for the night's work. After his own
cramped quarters, Malone's room proved delightful.
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