“Good morning,” said Evans and he tried to sound sarcastic.
“Hail to the Chief,” said Martin, eying Evans’ hand on the liquor drawer. “Starting in early, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean? Oh, this,” Evans withdrew his hand quickly. “I was just looking for something.”
“So I see.” The first mate smiled, showing all his teeth. He was a year younger than Evans, but looked even younger than he was. He had a carefully studied collegiate manner though he had never been to a college. John Martin had been one of the numerous unpromising young actors in a New England stock company. He was dark and nearly handsome. His voice was deep, interesting and mocking. He knew nothing about being a mate.
“Did you just get up?” Evans asked, knowing that he had.
“Why yes—the party, you know. I felt I should sleep. The ravell’d sleave, you know.” He spoke with a pseudo-British accent which he knew irritated Evans.
“Well, go get on down below and make sure they take water,” Evans snapped.
“Right you are, sir.”
“Can the funny stuff. We’re going to the Big Harbor tomorrow.”
“Any passengers?”