“I’m running away from my wife,” answered Daniel, frankly.
The other shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, well, that’s a home affair—your business, not mine. Sometimes there’s nought better than a bit of widowhood for females. You’ll make friends when you go back, no doubt.”
“Very likely we shall.”
“There was one man shipped with me who told that story, and I thought no more of it at the time. But afterwards I found that the chap had murdered his missis afore he ran away from her. You haven’t done that, I hope?”
“No, no—just left her for her good for the present,” explained Daniel. “And who be you, if I may ax?”
“My name is James Bradley, and I’m mate of the Peabody,” answered his companion. “I’ll not deceive you. I’m offering you nothing very well worth having. The Peabody’s an old tank steamer, and rotten as an over-ripe pear. Sometimes I think the rats will put their paws through her bottom afore long. A bad, under-engined, under-manned ship.”
“Why do you sail in her then?”
“That’s not here or there. I’m mate, and men will risk a lot for power. Besides, I’m a philosopher, if you know what that is, and I’ve got a notion, picked up in the East, that what will happen will happen. If I’m going to be drowned, I shall be drowned. Therefore, by law an’ logic, I’m as safe in the Peabody as I should be in a battleship. But perhaps your mind is not used to logic?”
“Never heard of it,” said Daniel.