“Eight o’clock if everyone’s aboard. They won’t be, of course.”
Bervick disappeared. Evans straightened his tie. Then he went below. The Chief and his assistants were at the table when he came into the salon. The Chief seemed cheerful.
“Looks like smooth sailing weather,” he observed. He pointed at the window and at the still harbor beyond.
“I hope so.” Evans was noncommital. He had seen too many days when the sea was calm in the harbor and rough outside. They would know the weather soon enough.
Martin and Bervick walked in together.
“Did you get home all right?” Martin asked.
“It looks like it, doesn’t it?” Evans spoke sharply. He did not like to be thought a heavy drinker. He noticed Martin was scowling. Evans, deciding that he had spoken too roughly, added, “Yes, the Captain took the Chief and me home. It was some fracas.”
Duval laughed loudly. “It sure was! We almost ended up in the ditch a couple times.”
“The perils of drink,” murmured Martin, his mouth full.
“Not much else to do in these islands,” said Evans. He did not really hate the islands, though. They had been home to him before the war when he had fished in these waters. He could not admit to the others, however, that he liked the Aleutians.