“Damn the owners!”
“That’s against Scripture. An owner’s always blessed.”
“He’ll never be upon the other side if he sends a ship to sea with such engines as we have.”
“They are a trial, aren’t they, Rudd?”
“They’re that.”
“So I think we may say that, under the circumstances, if the engines do last out, it will mean five hundred pounds in the pocket of the chief engineer.”
“Five hundred pounds? I’m not denying it’s an agreeable sum. I’d like to handle it. And it’ll be no fault of mine if the machine blows up before it’s just convenient. There’s just one other question I’d like to put to you. Is it the devil that we’ve took aboard?”
“It’s not. But it’s something that’s seen the devil face to face, and tasted of hell fire.”
Turning on my heel I left Isaac to make of my words what he could. A variety of matters demanded my immediate consideration. I had pledged my word that every man on board that ship should, in case of a certain eventuality, receive a definite sum of money. The promise was perhaps a rash one. But there was reason behind it. It would have to be kept. Then there were the owners to be considered—and myself.
Where were the funds to come from with which to do these things? What would they amount to, leaving fancy figures out. I should have to have a clear understanding with the Great Joss. The sooner the better, while I still, as it were, had a pull on him. Isaac Rudd had lost no time. Neither would I.