"Yes."
"I didn't ask you to come."
"Sure you didn't, but if you think you can treat me like a swine and get away with it—"
It was wonderful to see the eyes of McTee grow small. They seemed to retreat until they became points of light shining from the deep shadow of his brow. They were met by the cold, incurious light of Harrigan's stare.
"You're a hard man, Harrigan."
He made no answer, but listened to the deep thrum of the engines. It seemed to him that the force which drove the ship was like a part of McTee's will, a thing of steel.
"And I'm a hard man, Harrigan. On this ship I'm king. There's no will but my will; there's no right but my right; there's no law but my law. Remember, on land we stood as equals. On this ship you stand and I sit."
The thin lips did not curve, and yet they seemed to be smiling cruelly, and the eyes were probing deep, deep, deep into Harrigan's soul, weighing, measuring, searching.
"When we reach land," said Harrigan, "I got an idea I'll have to break you."
He raised his hands, which trembled with the restrained power of his arms, and moved them as though slowly breaking a stick of wood.