Brack did not reply.
“What shall it be, Mr. Chanler?” he said curtly. “Petroff Sound or Kalmut Fiord?”
Chanler looked once more at the crew. He had no special reason for going to Petroff Sound, but as he saw himself defied by his servants a flare of anger showed in his eyes.
“This may not be mutiny, but it is —— insolent, cappy,” said he. “I can’t say I like it at all.”
Garvin laughed. Chanler, looking at Brack, waved a hand toward the pugilist.
“Kindly have that man removed, cappy.”
The captain merely smiled; the scene was pleasing him. Chanler swore at him, and once more I saw that swift, terrible change come over Brack’s countenance.
“Careful, Chanler,” he said softly.
“Careful! On my own yacht!” Chanler’s voice was strong, but his eyes were wavering before Brack’s.
I stepped to his side, and as I did so, Miss Baldwin, a shimmering blue sweater in place of her rain-coat, and a tiny white tasseled cap on her head, came running out of the cabin toward us. Her eyes were taking in the Wanderer’s beauty and her nostrils were quivering with excitement.