More things, indeed, than Captain Tom Halstead yet dreamed!
Before Skipper Tom had turned to walk forward a long, rolling wave, a foretaste of the weather to come, had rolled in from the south, causing the “Restless” to take a plunge. A shorter wave followed, rocking the craft noticeably. In an instant the colored steward’s head was poked up through the companionway.
Ham took a look about him at the weather, and an eerie glint flashed in his eyes.
“’Fore de Lawd, dere’s goin’ ter be wedder dis night!” he muttered. “Don’t Ah know?”
“Ham,” called Ida Silsbee, laughingly, “if it rains this evening, and keeps us below, you’ll have a fine chance to tell us that story about the Ghost of Alligator Swamp.”
“On sech a night like as dis’ll be?” demanded Ham Mockus, rolling his eyes. “’Scuse me, Missy Ida. Ah don’t talk ’bout ghosts on deir night!”
“What’s going to be the matter with to-night, Ham?” inquired Mrs. Tremaine, showing signs of listless interest.
“Ter-night?” repeated the colored man, slowly. “’Scuse me, Mis’ Tremaine, but dis is gwine ter be der berry—’Scuse me. Ah mean, ole Satan is shuah gwine ter be in de gale ter-night!”