"You must be weary, Master Ormerod," he said solicitously. "It hath been a trying evening for you too, I fear."
"Ah, the devil played a strong hand, Master Juggins," de Veulle chimed in, with a yawn. "You do not object to your old name, I hope? It fits you like a snug shirt."
"Not in the least," I retorted. "'Tis an honest name. You will note, I hope, that the devil, as always, was checkmated, even though he had two of the minor fiends of darkness at his elbow."
Murray laughed, the fine, resonant laugh of a well-bred, honorable gentleman.
"Zooks, chevalier, have done. The man hath a rare metal."
"If wit fails, try small-swords," I suggested as I left the cabin.
VIII
I HEAR FIRST OF THE DOOM TRAIL
One day followed another and one week ran into the next as the New Venture made her southing and bore west toward the New World. The weather was blustery and raw. Gales stormed down out of the polar regions and drenched us with snow. Head winds baffled us. Once a tall-masted stranger chased us for two days and a night before we lost her and might continue our course.
But we who shared the tiny quarters under the poop contrived to live together without further quarrels. It seemed almost as if the opposition of the elements had overwhelmed the bitterness of conflicting human interests.