“Nothing.”
“Thought, maybe, some message might have drifted in; seen you writing a while back.”
“There was,” Cray laughed. “Fool operator on the Jessamine was askin’ me if I’d bought my girl that diamond yet.”
Drake stood by the table, his lean fingers clasped about its beveled edge. Cray, watching covertly, smiled. That table was shaking, though it was fastened to the floor.
“You’re a strong man, ain’t you?” Cray asked.
“There’s stronger aboard this packet,” Drake answered tonelessly. “Where’d the Old Man dig up those new sailormen? Two of them I saw this morning, ramming at that bent stanchion that supports this deck. Take four of me to make one of them.”
“That’s an idea,” Cray smiled, as if relishing his chance to play with this man.
“What is?” Drake frowned. “Makin’ one of them from four of me?”
“Then there’s Quayle; he’s husky, too. Well, beef don’t count with me.” Cray shoved a chair forward. “Want to listen in?”
He reached for an extra headset, plugged in, adjusted it for Drake, then watched him, keenly, as some faint message came.