In reply he received a monosyllabic affirmative; Kirkwood did not look up.
"You must be a howl," commented the captain, making for the seductive locker.
"A—what?"
"A howl, readin' that fine print there in the dark. W'y don't you go over to the light?... I'll 'ave to 'ave them shutters tyken off the winders." This was Stryker's amiable figure of speech, frequently employed to indicate the coverings of the skylight.
"I'm all right." Kirkwood went on studying the book.
Stryker swigged off his rum and wiped his lips with the back of a red paw, hesitating a moment to watch his guest.
"Mykes it seem more 'ome-like for you, I expect," he observed.
"What do you mean?"
"W'y, Bradshaw's first-cousin to a halmanack, ain't 'e? Can't get one, take t'other—next best thing. Sorry I didn't think of it sooner; like my passengers to feel comfy.... Now don't you go trapsein' off to gay Paree and squanderin' wot money you got left. You 'ear?"
"By the way, Captain!" Kirkwood looked up at this, but Stryker was already half-way up the companion.