Sure enough she was. The words acted like a pin on a bubble.
She flushed, pushed her plate away, half rose, and then sat down again.
“You’re always going on at me! Whatch’a want me to do? If I’m crying, I ought to be laughin’, an’ if I’m laughin’ I ought to be crying! I’ll laugh as much as I want—”
Then, logically, she broke into violent tears, rose, and ran on deck.
“What the hell-nation’s the matter with her?” asked Satan.
“I don’t know,” replied Ratcliffe.
CHAPTER XXXI
THE GO-ASHORE HAT
He had time to think over the matter as he lay in his bunk that night.