I was still too much of the coward, still too much the indoor man, to face brutal facts honestly.
“But it must have been an accident!” I said. “An accident might overtake even a good and sober seaman.”
“Yes sir,” said Wilson.
“You don’t think it was anything but an accident, do you?”
He thought for a while before replying.
“Well, sir, Larson and the rest of the crew didn’t get on together. He was from the Sound, you see, sir, and the rest of the hands, except Garvin and the negro, were shipped at ’Frisco. Larson was different from them, sir; he was young, and sober, and ambitious. He came from a good family in Portland, and he had his whole life in front of him, and he was living it so he was bound to rise, sir. He was a credit to the Wanderer, Larson was, sir.”
“Then you mean that the rest of the crew is not?”
“I didn’t say that, sir.”
“It was what you meant, though.”
“I don’t say so. I said that Larson and the rest of the crew didn’t get on together. He kept himself apart, and they saw he was too good for them, and they had trouble.”