The girl shivered. "I can't forget that awful scream!"
No further reference was made to the affair, beyond the skipper's explaining, later, that an unavoidable lurch of the ship had caused the accident. But it was long before Florence could look upon Manuel Mendez, when he joined them at mess, without changing countenance. There was something dreadful in the grinning calm of the black Portuguese. His eternal good humour was ominous.
"We mustn't let little outside matters affect us," said Tom Dennis that same night. "The main point, Florence, so far as we're concerned, is your father, and the way Pontifex and his company are acting."
"I know, Tom, dear," she said. "They've been very good."
He sensed a constraint in her air, but put it down to the accident.
Two days later, however, the inquietude within him, which had been lulled to sleep by that meeting of the company, was awakened with terrible swiftness. He had been discussing with Pontifex how to get into communication with Miles Hathaway, and the skipper professed himself quite helpless in the matter, leaving it entirely to Florence's ingenuity.
The lack of concern which Pontifex expressed struck Tom Dennis as being unnatural, under the circumstances. But a little later, as Dennis stood in talk with Mr. Leman, who was discussing whaling voyages, he squinted up at the sails.
"Better trim your yards a bit, hadn't you?" said Dennis thoughtlessly. "Looks as if you were losing a good bit of that wind, Mr. Leman."
The mate started slightly.
"Where'd you learn so much about sails, Mr. Dennis?"