The boy metamorphosed into a savage on the instant. His body bunched together as though for a spring, and his face became as an infuriated beast’s as he snarled, “It’s a—”
“A what?” Wolf Larsen asked, a peculiar softness in his voice, as though he were overwhelmingly curious to hear the unspoken word.
The boy hesitated, then mastered his temper. “Nothin’, sir. I take it back.”
“And you have shown me I was right.” This with a gratified smile. “How old are you?”
“Just turned sixteen, sir.”
“A lie. You’ll never see eighteen again. Big for your age at that, with muscles like a horse. Pack up your kit and go for’ard into the fo’c’sle. You’re a boat-puller now. You’re promoted; see?”
Without waiting for the boy’s acceptance, the captain turned to the sailor who had just finished the gruesome task of sewing up the corpse. “Johansen, do you know anything about navigation?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, never mind; you’re mate just the same. Get your traps aft into the mate’s berth.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” was the cheery response, as Johansen started forward.