"Where do you expect it from now?"
"Not out of the south'ard and west'ard again. No such luck. It would not surprise me a bit if it went all the way round to north, or even the east'ard of north. The glass is falling, it's been un-naturally hot for days, and I think we'll have a change."
"So do I. I think the thermometer must have fallen also. Has it, captain?"
"Yes, your grace, it has dropped from sixty-seven to sixty, and it is going down still."
"I'm sure it isn't sixty now. I think you're right, Drew. I think it will be out of the north. I feel it in my shoulder. I feel the north-east is coming. What do you think, George?"
"I think so too. I am almost sure we shall have to put about before morning. It is growing colder and colder every moment."
For awhile there was silence on deck.
A tall raw-boned man with hollow cadaverous cheeks was at the wheel. He was a man of forty-five years of age, and one of the best seamen in the crew. It was the captain's watch, and the next man who spoke aloud was the man at the wheel. He cried out, in as low a voice as would reach the second mate:
"Mr. Mate!"
"Ay, ay!" answered the mate from the waist, as he turned and walked aft to Pritchard, the gaunt cadaverous man at the wheel.