The Steward. She don't know no one—but him. She talks to him—when she does talk—right enough.
Ben. She does nothin' all day long now but sit and sew—and then she cries to herself without makin' no noise. I've seen her.
The Steward. Aye, I could hear her through the door a while back.
Ben [tiptoes over to the door and listens]. She's cryin' now.
The Steward [furiously—shaking his fist]. God send his soul to hell for the devil he is!
[There is the noise of some one coming slowly down the companion-way stairs. The Steward hurries to his stacked-up dishes. He is so nervous from fright that he knocks off the top one which falls and breaks on the floor. He stands aghast, trembling with dread. Ben is violently rubbing off the organ with a piece of cloth which he has snatched from his pocket. Captain Keeney appears in the doorway on right and comes into the cabin, removing his fur cap as he does so. He is a man of about forty, around five-ten in height but looking much shorter on account of the enormous proportions of his shoulders and chest. His face is massive and deeply lined, with gray-blue eyes of a bleak hardness, and a tightly-clenched, thin-lipped mouth. His thick hair is long and gray. He is dressed in a heavy blue jacket and blue pants stuffed into his sea-boots. He is followed into the cabin by the Second Mate, a rangy six-footer with a lean weather-beaten face. The Mate is dressed about the same as the captain. He is a man of thirty or so.]
Keeney [comes toward The Steward with a stern look on his face. The Steward is visibly frightened and the stack of dishes rattles in his trembling hands. Keeney draws back his fist and The Steward shrinks away. The fist is gradually lowered and Keeney speaks slowly]. 'Twould be like hitting a worm. It is nigh on two bells, Mr. Steward, and this truck not cleared yet.
The Steward [stammering]. Y-y-yes, sir.
Keeney. Instead of doin' your rightful work ye've been below here gossipin' old women's talk with that boy. [To Ben, fiercely.] Get out o' this you! Clean up the chart room. [Ben darts past the Mate to the open doorway.] Pick up that dish, Mr. Steward!
The Steward [doing so with difficulty]. Yes, sir.