He found Bradish sprawled in a morris-chair which was lashed to a radiator. He expected hot words and more insults, but Bradish turned to him a face that was gray with evident terror. His jaw sagged; his eyes appealed.
“This is awful!” he mourned. “What has happened on deck? I heard the fighting. Where is Miss Mar-ston?”
“She is forward. There has been an accident—a bad one. We have lost the captain and crew. Come on. I need help.”
“I can't help. I'm all in!” groaned Bradish.
“I say you must. It's the only way to save our lives.”
Bradish rolled his head on the back of the chair, refusing. His manner, his sudden change from the fighting mood, astonished Mayo. The thought came to him that this man had been pricked to conflict by bitter grudge instead of by his courage.
“Look here, Bradish, aren't you going to help me save that girl?”
“I'm not a sailor. There's nothing I can do.”
“But you've got two hands, man. I want to get a boat overboard. Hurry!”
“No, no! I wouldn't get into a small boat with these waves so high. It wouldn't be safe.”