"
Mr. Powell was young enough to be startled at the suggestion, which
sounded confidential and blood-curdling in the dusk. He said sharply
that it was not very likely, as if defending the absent victim of the
accident from an unkind aspersion. He felt, in fact, indignant. The
other emitted a short stifled laugh of a conciliatory nature. The second
bell rang under the poop. He made a movement at the sound, but lingered.
"What I said was not meant seriously," he murmured, with that strange air
of fearing to be overheard. "Not in this case. I know the man."
The occasion, or rather the want of occasion, for this conversation, had
sharpened the perceptions of the unsophisticated second officer of the
_Ferndale_. He was alive to the slightest shade of tone, and felt as if
this "I know the man" should have been followed by a "he was no friend of
mine." But after the shortest possible break the old gentleman continued
to murmur distinctly and evenly:
"Whereas you have never seen him. Nevertheless, when you have gone
through as many years as I have, you will understand how an event putting
an end to one's existence may not be altogether unwelcome.
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