The Chief was about to reply. Irritated, and a little worried that the Major might get the wrong impression of them, Evans said firmly, “I’ve heard all I want to hear about sea lions.” Duval grumbled something and Bervick looked at his plate. The silence was awkward.
“When,” asked the Chaplain helpfully, “do we get to Arunga?”
“It’s about eight hundred miles. I always figure about seventy hours or more,” Evans answered, glad to change the subject.
Evans thought of the falling barometer and the stormy sky. For some reason, as he thought, the word “avunculus” kept going through his head. He had no idea what it meant but he must have heard or read it somewhere. The desire to say the word was almost overpowering. Softly he muttered to himself, “avunculus.”
“What was that?” asked Bervick who, sitting nearest him, had heard.
“Nothing, I was thinking, that’s all.”
“I thought you said something.”
“What tonnage is this boat?” asked Hodges.
“Something over three hundred,” answered Evans. He had forgotten, if he had ever known, the exact tonnage.
“That’s pretty big.”