He viewed the apoplectic, goggle-eyed mate and the
saturnine, heavy-eyed steward as the victims of a peculiar and secret
form of lunacy which poisoned their lives. But he did not give them his
sympathy on that account. No. That strange affliction awakened in him a
sort of suspicious wonder.
Once--and it was at night again; for the officers of the _Ferndale_
keeping watch and watch as was customary in those days, had but few
occasions for intercourse--once, I say, the thick Mr. Franklin, a
quaintly bulky figure under the stars, the usual witnesses of his
outpourings, asked him with an abruptness which was not callous, but in
his simple way:
"I believe you have no parents living?"
Mr. Powell said that he had lost his father and mother at a very early
age.
"My mother is still alive," declared Mr. Franklin in a tone which
suggested that he was gratified by the fact. "The old lady is lasting
well. Of course she's got to be made comfortable. A woman must be
looked after, and, if it comes to that, I say, give me a mother. I dare
say if she had not lasted it out so well I might have gone and got
married.
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