Moran, reaching up through the scuttle, threw his bannock overboard.
“Very well!” said Bethune. “That shortens our stay. Perhaps we had better get the pumps down into the cockpit when you have finished the pork and tea.”
They did so, grumbling, and then lay on the lockers, smoking and disinclined for sleep. There was a tension in the air, and something ominous in the roar of the surf, which seemed to grow louder and more insistent.
“Whether we’ll find the gold or not is doubtful; the only thing certain is that we’ll have an opportunity for doing a lot of work,” Bethune observed after a while. “In a way, Hank’s more to be pitied than either of us. He hadn’t the option of taking things easily when he came out West.”
“The big lobsters were most killed off; you couldn’t make your grub with the traps,” Moran explained. “Then I got some little books showing it was easy to get rich by fishing in British Columbia. Wish I had the liars who wrote them out in a half-swamped dory picking up a trawl.”
“I don’t see that I had much more option than he had,” Jimmy objected.
“You could have stayed on board the liner, wearing smart uniforms and faring sumptuously, with a Chinese steward to look after you, if you’d exercised a little tact and shown a proper respect for authority. When the skipper disapproved of a man with heart trouble steering his ship, as he had every right to do, you should have agreed with him.”
“I’m glad I didn’t,” Jimmy said stubbornly. “Anyhow, you’re no better off, even if you practise what you preach.”
“That would be too much to expect; but then I admit that I am a fool,” Bethune laughed. “If I doubted it, the number of times it has been delicately pointed out would have convinced me. After all, it’s easy to conform outwardly, which is all that is required, and you can do what you like in private. A concession to popular opinion here and there doesn’t cost one much.”
“If you mean I ought to have got the quartermaster sacked after he’d prevented a ton of cargo from dropping on my head, I’d rather starve.”