Mayo lost his temper then in earnest. All his nature was on edge in that crisis, and this supine surrender of an able-bodied man whose two hands were needed so desperately was peculiarly exasperating. He leaped out of the boat, ran into the galley, and gave the cook an invigorating beating up with the flat of his hands. The cook clutched his cat more firmly, braced himself on the stool, and took his punishment.
“Kill me if you want to,” he invited. “I've got to die, and it don't make a mite of difference how. Murder me if you're so inclined.”
“Man—man—man, what's the matter with you?” gasped Mayo. “We've got a chance! Here's a girl to save!”
“She hain't got no business being here. Was sneaked aboard. It's no use to pound me. I won't lift a finger. My mind is made up. I've been deserted by the Old Man.”
“You old lunatic, Captain Downs got carried away by those cowards. Wake up! Help me! For the love of the Lord, help me!”
“Rushing around will only take my mind off'n thoughts of the hereafter, and I need to do some right thinking before my end. It ain't any use to threaten and jaw; nothing makes any difference to me now.”
Mayo saw the uselessness of further appeal, and the fellow dangled as limply as a stuffed dummy when the young man shook him. Therefore Mayo gave over his efforts and hurried back to the long-boat. The spectacle of the girl struggling with the stuff she was jettisoning put new determination into him. Her amazing fortitude at the time when he had looked for hysterics and collapse gave him new light on the enigma of femininity.
“Did you tell me that Bradish is ill?” he asked, hurriedly.
“He is in the cabin. He would not talk to me. I could not induce him to come on deck.”
“I must have help with the tackle,” he told her, and started aft on the run.