“Oh, he’s all right,” said Martin smoothly. “Just a little hot-tempered at times.”
“Maybe that’s it.” Duval sat down on the bench beside Martin. They looked out the window at the pale gray of evening. The day was over and the wind had died down.
“Probably be a strong southwest wind tomorrow,” remarked Duval.
“Can’t tell, really.”
“Thank God we’ve only a few passengers. Every time it’s rough we have at least forty.”
“That’s the way it goes.”
At the other table five deckhands were playing Hearts. Martin watched them. His thoughts drifted and he saw stages and heard speeches and listened to the sea. The sea was becoming a part of himself, and whenever he relaxed, his mind seemed to be caught up in the restless tempo of the water and he would become uneasy: at sea he was always uneasy. He yawned abruptly and cleared his mind.
Evans came into the salon. “Say, Mate,” he said, “the Captain’s giving a party over at his quarters. You and the Chief want to come?”
Martin nodded. “I always like free beer.”
“So do I.” The Chief got to his feet. “I hope he’s got some bourbon. I haven’t had any good stuff for quite a while. It gets used up so fast because I always share it.” The Chief knew of Evans’ liquor and he also knew that Evans never shared it. Evans looked away.