'What you standing there for? Take that ice-pitcher down to the texas-tender-come, move along, and don't you be all day about it!'
The moment I got back to the pilot-house, Brown said—
'Here! What was you doing down there all this time?'
'I couldn't find the texas-tender; I had to go all the way to the pantry.'
'Derned likely story! Fill up the stove.'
I proceeded to do so. He watched me like a cat. Presently he shouted—
'Put down that shovel! Deadest numskull I ever saw—ain't even got sense enough to load up a stove.'
All through the watch this sort of thing went on. Yes, and the subsequent watches were much like it, during a stretch of months. As I have said, I soon got the habit of coming on duty with dread. The moment I was in the presence, even in the darkest night, I could feel those yellow eyes upon me, and knew their owner was watching for a pretext to spit out some venom on me. Preliminarily he would say—