“There, Clark; what do you think of that?” said my father.
The name, Clark, at once made known to me who this man was—that old associate of my father—his assistant on board the Vishnu. Yet the name did not add one whit to the abhorrence which I felt—my father was worse even than he.
The man Clark looked at me scrutinizingly for some time.
“So that’s the gal,” said he, at last.
“That’s the gal,” said my father.
Clark waved his hand at me. “Turn round sideways,” said he.
I looked at him quietly without moving. He repeated the order, but I took no notice of it.
“D—n her!” said he. “Is she deaf?”
“Not a bit of it,” said John; “but she’s plucky. She’d just as soon you’d kill her as not. There isn’t any way of moving her.”
“Turn round!” cried my father, angrily.