"Did you hear what this gentleman was saying to me?"
"No, sir," answered the sailor quietly. Then, encouraged by this
evidence of laxity in his officer, made bold to add, "A queer fish, sir."
This was tentative, and Mr. Powell, busy with his own view, not saying
anything, he ventured further. "They are more like passengers. One sees
some queer passengers."
"Who are like passengers?" asked Powell gruffly.
"Why, these two, sir."
CHAPTER THREE--DEVOTED SERVANTS--AND THE LIGHT OF A FLARE
Young Powell thought to himself: "The men, too, are noticing it." Indeed,
the captain's behaviour to his wife and to his wife's father was
noticeable enough. It was as if they had been a pair of not very
congenial passengers. But perhaps it was not always like that. The
captain might have been put out by something.
When the aggrieved Franklin came on deck Mr. Powell made a remark to that
effect. For his curiosity was aroused.
The mate grumbled "Seems to you? . . . Putout? . . . eh?" He buttoned
his thick jacket up to the throat, and only then added a gloomy "Aye,
likely enough," which discouraged further conversation.
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