Revolving these dismal prospects with downward head, he climbed from the waist of the ship to the cabin promenade, and there a voice hailed him, and he turned to see Kate Malone approaching. She was all in white—cap, canvas shoes, silk shirt absurdly lose at the throat, and linen coat with the sleeves turned far back so that her hands would not be enveloped. The duck trousers were also taken up several reefs.
"Good morning," she said, and held out her hand.
He watched her smile wistfully, and then made a little gesture with his own hands, one burdened with the scrubbing brush and the other with the bucket.
"What does it mean?"
"Hell," said Harrigan.
"Explain."
"It's McTee again, damn his eyes!"
"Do you mean to say they've started to treat you as they did on the Mary Rogers? The scrubbing and then the work in the fireroom?"
"Right."
She stamped her foot in impotent fury.