No,
he just stopped short--no wonder; he must have felt the wind of that iron
gin-block on his face--looked down at it, there, lying close to his
foot--and went on again. I believe he didn't even blink. It isn't
natural. The man is stupefied."
He sighed ridiculously and Mr. Powell had suppressed a grin, when the
mate added as if he couldn't contain himself:
"He will be taking to drink next. Mark my words. That's the next
thing."
Mr. Powell was disgusted.
"You are so fond of the captain and yet you don't seem to care what you
say about him. I haven't been with him for seven years, but I know he
isn't the sort of man that takes to drink. And then--why the devil
should he?"
"Why the devil, you ask. Devil--eh? Well, no man is safe from the
devil--and that's answer enough for you," wheezed Mr. Franklin not
unkindly. "There was a time, a long time ago, when I nearly took to
drink myself. What do you say to that?"
Mr. Powell expressed a polite incredulity. The thick, congested mate
seemed on the point of bursting with despondency. "That was bad example
though.
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