"Is Mrs. Anthony not feeling well?" asked Powell. But Mr. Smith's remark
was not meant for Mrs. Anthony. She was well. He himself was well. It
was the captain's health that did not seem quite satisfactory. Had Mr.
Powell noticed his appearance?
Mr. Powell didn't know enough of the captain to judge. He couldn't tell.
But he observed thoughtfully that Mr. Franklin had been saying the same
thing. And Franklin had known the captain for years. The mate was quite
worried about it.
This intelligence startled Mr. Smith considerably. "Does he think he is
in danger of dying?" he exclaimed with an animation quite extraordinary
for him, which horrified Mr. Powell.
"Heavens! Die! No! Don't you alarm yourself, sir. I've never heard a
word about danger from Mr. Franklin."
"Well, well," sighed Mr. Smith and left the poop for the saloon rather
abruptly.
As a matter of fact Mr. Franklin had been on deck for some considerable
time. He had come to relieve young Powell; but seeing him engaged in
talk with the "enemy"--with one of the "enemies" at least--had kept at a
distance, which, the poop of the Ferndale being aver seventy feet long,
he had no difficulty in doing. Mr. Powell saw him at the head of the
ladder leaning on his elbow, melancholy and silent. "Oh! Here you are,
sir."
"Here I am. Here I've been ever since six o'clock. Didn't want to
interrupt the pleasant conversation. If you like to put in half of your
watch below jawing with a dear friend, that's not my affair. Funny taste
though."
"He isn't a bad chap," said the impartial Powell.
The mate snorted angrily, tapping the deck with his foot; then: "Isn't
he? Well, give him my love when you come together again for another nice
long yarn."
"I say, Mr. Franklin, I wonder the captain don't take offence at your
manners."
"The captain. I wish to goodness he would start a row with me. Then I
should know at least I am somebody on board. I'd welcome it, Mr. Powell.
I'd rejoice. And dam' me I would talk back too till I roused him. He's
a shadow of himself. He walks about his ship like a ghost. He's fading
away right before our eyes. But of course you don't see. You don't care
a hang. Why should you?"
Mr. Powell did not wait for more. He went down on the main deck. Without
taking the mate's jeremiads seriously he put them beside the words of Mr.
Smith. He had grown already attached to Captain Anthony. 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.