He shook off the appearance of numbness to return Mr. Van Wyk’s unusually brisk greeting, but relapsed directly afterwards. To accept a pressing invitation to dinner “up at the house” cost him another very visible physical effort. Mr. Van Wyk, perplexed, folded his arms, and leaning back against the rail, with his little, black, shiny feet well out, examined him covertly.
“I’ve noticed of late that you are not quite yourself, old friend.”
He put an affectionate gentleness into the last two words. The real intimacy of their intercourse had never been so vividly expressed before.
“Tut, tut, tut!”
The wicker-chair creaked heavily.
“Irritable,” commented Mr. Van Wyk to himself; and aloud, “I’ll expect to see you in half an hour, then,” he said negligently, moving off.
“In half an hour,” Captain Whalley’s rigid silvery head repeated behind him as if out of a trance.
Amidships, below, two voices, close against the engineroom, could be heard answering each other—one angry and slow, the other alert.
“I tell you the beast has locked himself in to get drunk.”
“Can’t help it now, Mr. Massy. After all, a man has a right to shut himself up in his cabin in his own time.”