"No matter if the vittles is bad—an' poor, I'm thankful. The ways o' Providence air unbeknownst," he said as he finished.
"What's the matter with the whack?" snarled the Captain. "Ain't it good enough fer yer? I'll lay it's a sight better'n you been used to gettin', an' that's a fact."
"I didn't say it wasn't good," said the tall man, hastily, in a gentle tone. "I only said I was thankful even if it wasn't any good."
"Huh," snarled the Captain, "tryin' to sneak out of it, hey?"
"A sanctified man never fights," said the big fellow in a small voice, "for if he did I would break you up in little pieces."
"Well, a sailor fights an' don't you fergit it," snarled the Captain. "You want to try the breakin' game a bit aboard here, you long-legged sky-pilot. What the thunder d'ye call a sanctified man anyways, hey?"
"Don't ye know?" asked the tall man, mildly, his eyes taking again that peculiar look of fear they often held.
"Naw," answered the skipper.
"Well, he's one what's been tried. A man that's been off the path an' come back again. He's taken the oath to do no more harm—nothin' but good. He's sanctified."
"No more harm! What harm hev ye done, hey?" asked the Captain, sharply.