"I was—very proud," she said. "If you had struck him, I should have been ashamed."
"That's the woman of it," he jeered. "Damn it, Faith; you can't run a whaler with kisses...."
She studied his countenance. He was flushed, nervous, his lips moving.... He took off his cap to wipe his forehead; and his bald head and his gray hair and the slack muscles of his cheeks reminded her again that he was an old, an aging man.... She felt infinitely sorry for him; she patted his arm comfortingly.
He shook her off. "Yes, by God," he swore. "When he gets back, I'll tie him up and give him the rope.... Show the dog...."
Roy had come up behind them; neither had heard him. The boy cried: "That's right, sir. The man thinks he's running the Sally, sir. You've got to handle him."
Faith said: "Roy, be still."
He flamed at her: "You don't know what you're talking about, Sis. You're just a girl."
Noll said impatiently: "Don't have one of your rows, now. I'm sick of 'em. Roy, go down in the cabin and stay there...."
"I can't see the boats from there," the boy complained. Noll turned on him; and Roy backed away and disappeared. Noll watched the boats, dwindling into specks across the sea.... Beyond he could see, now and then, the white spouts of the whales. Once a great fluke was lazily upreared.... Faith watched beside him.