Joel nodded. “He gave me command of the Nathan Ross. Yes.”
Mark looked sidewise at big Jim Finch, and grinned. “Over your head, eh, Jim? Too damned bad!”
Finch grinned. “I had no wish for the place, sir. You see, I felt very sure you would be coming back to your own.”
Mark tilted back his head and laughed. “You were always a very cautious man, Jim Finch. Never jumped till you were sure where you would land.” He wheeled on Joel. “Well, boy—how does it feel to wear long pants?”
Joel, holding his anger in check, said slowly: “We’ve done well. Close on eight hundred barrel aboard.”
Mark wagged his head in solemn reproof. “Joey, Joey, you’ve been fiddling away your time. I can see that!”
Over his brother’s shoulder, Joel saw the grinning face of big Jim Finch, and his eyes hardened. He said quietly: “If that’s your tone, Mark, you’ll call back your boat and go ashore.”
A flame surged across Mark’s cheek; and he took one swift, terrible step toward his brother. But Joel did not give ground; and after a moment in which their eyes clashed like swords, Mark relaxed, and laughed and bowed low.
“I was wrong, grievously wrong, Captain Shore,” he said sonorously. “I neglected the respect due your office. Your high office, sir. I thank you for reminding me of the—the proprieties, Captain.” And he added, in a different tone, “Now will you not invite me aft on your ship, sir?”
Joel hesitated for a bare instant, caught by a vague foreboding that he could not explain. But in the end he nodded, as though in answer to the unspoken question in his thoughts. “Will you come down into the cabin, Mark?” he invited quietly. “I’ve much to ask you; and you must have many things to tell.”