Forsythe turned, white with rage, and answered slowly and softly:
"Down to the officers' quarters to get a sextant or a quadrant. I found that book on navigation in the pilot-house, but I need the instrument, and a nautical almanac. That is as far as my studies have progressed."
"You stay out of the officers' quarters," said Jenkins. "There's a man there who'll eat you alive if you show yourself. You want a sextant and nautical almanac. Anything else?"
"That is all."
"I'll get them, and, remember, you and the rest are to stay away from the after end of the boat."
Forsythe made no answer as Jenkins passed him on the way aft, but muttered: "Eat me alive? We'll see."
Riley, one of the machinists, appeared from the engine-room hatch and came forward, halting before Forsythe.
"Say," he grumbled, "what call has that big lobster to bullyrag this crowd the way he's been doin'? I heard him just now givin' you hell, and he gave me hell yesterday when I spoke of the short oil."
"Short oil?" queried Forsythe. "Do you mean that——"
"I mean that the oil won't last but a day longer. We've been storming along at forty knots, and eating up oil. What'll we do?"