“Really! That's interesting. May I ask if you and the second officer are friends?”
“Scarcely that. He and I exchanged a few words on deck this morning, that's all.”
“But he told you about the fog and the—what is it—the glass, and all that. Fancy! that's extremely odd. I'm acquainted with the captain in a trifling sort of way; I sit at his table, I mean to say. And I assure you he doesn't tell us a word. And, by Jove, we cross-question him, too! Rather!”
I smiled. I could imagine the cross-questioning.
“I suppose the captain is obliged to be non-committal,” I observed. “That's part of his job. The second officer meant to be, I have no doubt, but perhaps my remarks showed that I was really interested in ships and the sea. My father and grandfather, too, for that matter were seafaring men, both captains. That may have made the second officer more communicative. Not that he said anything of importance, of course.”
Mr. Heathcroft seemed very interested. He actually removed his eyeglass.
“Oh!” he exclaimed. “You know something about it, then. I thought it was extraordinary, but now I see. And you think our run will be better than five hundred and eighty?”
“It should be, unless there is a remarkable change. This ship makes over six hundred, day after day, in good weather. She should do at least six hundred by to-morrow noon, unless there is a sudden change, as I said.”
“But six hundred would be—it would be the high field, by Jove!”
“Anything over five hundred and ninety-four would be that. The numbers are very low to-night. Far too low, I should say.”