“Why,” said Hodges, “don’t you do it together?” At Officers’ School they had taught him that nothing brought men closer together than the same work.
“That’s a fine idea,” said Bervick, knowing that Duval would not like it.
“Sure,” said the Chief, “sure.”
They walked out on deck. Hodges stayed in the salon, playing solitaire.
There was a cold wind blowing and the ship was pitching on the short small waves. Spray splattered the decks from time to time. The sky was beginning to clear a little. Hodges had been right about the weather.
The ventilator was dented and slightly out of position. When spray came over the side of the ship it eddied around the base of the ventilator and water trickled through to the engine room.
Duval and Bervick looked at the ventilator and did not speak. Bervick pushed it and felt it give slightly. Duval sat on the railing of the ship, opposite the ventilator.
“I suppose,” said Bervick, “we should hammer the thing in place.”
“You go get the hammer then.”
Bervick walked to the afterdeck. He leaned down and raised the lid of the lazaret. A smell of tar and rope came to him from the dark hole. He climbed down inside the lazaret and fumbled around a moment in the dark. Then he found a hammer and some nails.