“Maybe.”
“Look here, Satan!” said Ratcliffe. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the girl and what’s to become of her. She can’t go on as she is. We must fix up something.”
“That’s easy said.”
“Well, I’ve grown fonder of her than any person I’ve ever met, that’s the truth. There’s no one like her; she’s gold right through.”
“She ain’t bad.”
“This sort of thing was all right when she was a child,” went on Ratcliffe; “but she’s growing out of that. Why, even in the little time since I’ve come aboard, she seems different, somehow.”
“Well, if you ask me,” said Satan, “you seem to have made a change in her. She’s brightened up, somehow, has more sass in her. Y’see, when we were cruisin’ round since Pap died, me, she, and the nigger, there wasn’t much company, and she was gettin’ a bit down-hearted. Then, when you came aboard, she picked up. She hadn’t laughed for weeks till she saw you in that pajama rig; then she chummed onto you.”
“She did.”
“Liked you from the first minute she saw you. There’s no two ways about Jude,—it’s either like or the other thing, right off.”
“Well, I’m pretty much the same—and I don’t want to lose sight of her—or you.”