“Where? Who, who? Name?” Everybody but Cheviot and a few women were shouting themselves hoarse.
“What y’ got to say to that, Mr.— You, there, with the arctic cap and the tender heart fur captains?”
“I’ve got this to say. That even the men who sailed along here last fall, don’t know Norton Sound this summer.”
“Wot?”
“Can’t know it.”
“And why not?”
“For the good reason that new sand-bars are formed up here every spring. Not a ship that sails for any port on the northwest coast but goes on what’s practically an exploring expedition. That’s our true danger. The captain’s no less than ours.”
“Oh, yes, we all know you’re in with his nibs, but what my friends don’t know is that Billings & Co. sent a pilot aboard this ship.”
“Why, then,” roared half-a-dozen voices, “why ain’t he pilotin’!”
“Why?” Mr. Gedge shouted above the din. “I can tell—” His sentence was jerked to an abrupt close. “What in hell’s up?”