The
apoplectic mate, already half-way down, went up again three steps of the
poop ladder. Why, yes. A proper young fellow, the mate expected,
wouldn't stand by and see a man, a good sailor and his own skipper, in
trouble without taking his part against a couple of shore people who--Mr.
Powell interrupted him impatiently, asking what was the trouble?
"What is it you are hinting at?" he cried with an inexplicable
irritation.
"I don't like to think of him all alone down there with these two,"
Franklin whispered impressively. "Upon my word I don't. God only knows
what may be going on there . . . Don't laugh . . . It was bad enough last
voyage when Mrs. Brown had a cabin aft; but now it's worse. It frightens
me. I can't sleep sometimes for thinking of him all alone there, shut
off from us all."
Mrs. Brown was the steward's wife. You must understand that shortly
after his visit to the Fyne cottage (with all its consequences), Anthony
had got an offer to go to the Western Islands, and bring home the cargo
of some ship which, damaged in a collision or a stranding, took refuge in
St.
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