There was
something not only attractive but compelling in the man. Only it is very
difficult for youth to believe in the menace of death. Not in the fact
itself, but in its proximity to a breathing, moving, talking, superior
human being, showing no sign of disease. And Mr. Powell thought that
this talk was all nonsense. But his curiosity was awakened. There was
something, and at any time some circumstance might occur . . . No, he
would never find out . . . There was nothing to find out, most likely.
Mr. Powell went to his room where he tried to read a book he had already
read a good many times. Presently a bell rang for the officers' supper.
CHAPTER SIX--. . . A MOONLESS NIGHT, THICK WITH STARS ABOVE, VERY DARK ON
THE WATER
In the mess-room Powell found Mr. Franklin hacking at a piece of cold
salt beef with a table knife. The mate, fiery in the face and rolling
his eyes over that task, explained that the carver belonging to the mess-
room could not be found. The steward, present also, complained savagely
of the cook. The fellow got things into his galley and then lost them.
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