A mile or more behind them the Natchez showed, a triangle of pearl, Palm Island had vanished, and nothing remained in all the wheel of sea but a trace of smoke to the southward,—the smoke of some freighter hull down on the horizon.
The sturdy little figure at the wheel seemed to have forgotten his existence. He was wondering whether the grudge was still being kept up against him, and what it was all about, and whether this indifference was real or assumed, when a voice made him start:
“Say! Have you swallowed your tongue?”
“No, but I didn’t like to speak to you.”
“What for?”
“Well, I’ve heard you mustn’t speak to the man at the wheel.”
“Who stuffed you with that yarn?”
“Oh, I’ve seen it stuck up on steamboats, and besides I thought you were in a temper with me.”
“Which way?”
“Well, you said davits were only good for hoisting fools off a ship.”