As for the Inquisitive One—he was not, of course, only inquisitive, but was thus introduced to help to distinguish him from others in first telling of the "Push"—he shuffled round among the rest, hands in pockets, jerking left shoulder forward, jerking right shoulder forward, very young, very crass, trying to keep drunk by acting drunk. If a policeman had stepped up to him he would have been sober on the instant. He was always scared of policemen, unlike men like Jack, who were merely alert to them. There were a great many others, many of whom need not be mentioned in detail, because as the voyage went on they were not considered so by Mike, and he was a man worth heeding in his own walk of life. They were just "them" or "youse"; if referred to in the singular they were "him" or "you," with an indicative jerk of a thumb, or pointing of a finger. They did not even rise to nicknames—shrimpy-looking lads who could pick pockets and knew the soup kitchens of all the Atlantic ports.
The sounds of discord ebbed; and now more plaintive than irritable was the lowing of the cattle on the main and lower decks. On the upper deck sheep gave voice here and yonder, though the majority were quiet. It was as if every now and again they thought it over and gave a little bleat of "Why?" Scholar, stealing away from the diminishing group on the poop, easily, not to attract attention, went forward along the upper deck and looked at the faces of these woolly creatures with something like affection, as a man disgusted in the society in which he finds himself will welcome his dog, or a lonely woman the upturned face of a cat.
The day wore on, the lowings increasing, the cursings decreasing. The warm sun helped to stupefy farther the drink-stupefied. They had now the appearance, most of them, that comes to those who have missed sleep through some long and harassing vigil. Taunting smells of food wafted aft from the galley ventilator; but there was none for the cattlemen. They were left alone on the railed-off poop and in the cabin under it, as in a cage and a wild beast pit. The Man with the Hat, lying on his chest, a straw in his mouth, near the smoke-stack, rolled over and pulled his belt up two holes and looked round casually, wondering when something was going to happen; and then there appeared, in the narrow path to starboard between the sheepcots, John Candlass, with his air of reserve; and behind him, lurching, Rafferty, axe in hand.
There was a difference between these two cattle bosses; Candlass had come into the business—no one knows why but Candlass—and Rafferty had mounted in it, and, mounting, he had not discarded the ancient custom known as "tanking up" on the day that the ship clears the wharf. Nominally they were colleagues, but his clear eye and brain made Candlass actually the boss aboard and Rafferty, red-eyed and swollen-faced, was as lieutenant. Smithers, of the Saint Lawrence Shipping and Transport Co., Ltd., wished they might meet more mysteries like Candlass, but such mysteries were scarce, or did not come their way.
Asked of the evil smelling darkness below many insulting questions.
Candlass, coming to the poop, poked his head down the companion-way and said sharply: "All cattlemen on deck!" Then he stood back. He seemed to pay hardly any heed to whether they came promptly or leisurely. To Rafferty's mind they did not come quickly enough, so he leapt to the companion-way and asked of the evil-smelling darkness below many insulting questions. His vocabulary put to the blush the vocabularies of all the others. Candlass glanced sideways at him, and, stepping a little more close, in a low voice, that caused Rafferty to come near to hear what was said, engaged him in conversation. Rafferty, drunk or sober, was rather proud of his job; he had climbed to the top, as may the reporter to be editor, the bank clerk to be manager, the stable mucker to be ranch foreman. But Candlass was a celebrated boss, and it was an honour for any other boss to chat with him, or to sail with him. Even Rafferty drunk did not forget that, and Rafferty only three sheets in the wind, as he was at present, was none averse to letting the men come up as they would, when all could see the terms he was on with Candlass. Not that his ways were Candlass's ways; he esteemed Candlass's control, but would not imitate—indeed could not. There was always some intimidating weapon in Rafferty's hand; but Candlass's hands generally lay negligently one within the other behind his back. One may suspect that he felt a slight pity for Rafferty rather than contempt, and would have been sorry to see him do a murder in his cups; looked upon him somewhat as Scholar, coming aft now from the sheep-cotes amidships, looked upon the large, dishevelled Mike who emerged on to the deck, scoop-cap awry on his ruffled hair, eyes puckered to the sunlight after the dusk of the cabin, licking dry lips, working dry tongue, disgustedly grunting "Ach!" over his condition and his stale feeling—referred to by callous topers as "the morning after." Candlass produced a coin and handed it, perhaps by some convention of courtesy, to Rafferty; Rafferty rejected it with a "Go ahead!" and Candlass tossed.
"Heads!" cried Rafferty.
It came down tails. Candlass pointed to Mike, and Mike made four steps of it, with a touch of swagger, to one side. Rafferty pointed to Cockney, who staggered to the other side. Candlass said, very quietly: "All right. You can pick your own men now!" for these were "straw bosses"—Mike under Candlass, Cockney under Rafferty. Neither Cockney nor Mike had a coin left, so Cockney stooped and picked up a splinter of wood, and, laying it between his two palms, held them forth.