MATE (hesitatingly). Then you ain't goin'—to turn back?
KEENEY. Turn back! Mr. Slocum, did you ever hear o' me pointin' s'uth for home with only a measly four hundred barrel of ile in the hold?
MATE (hastily). No, sir—but the grub's gittin' low.
KEENEY. They's enough to last a long time yit, if they're careful with it; and they's plenty o' water.
MATE. They say it's not fit to eat—what's left; and the two years they signed on fur is up to-day. They might make trouble for you in the courts when we git home.
KEENEY. To hell with 'em! Let them make what law trouble they kin. I don't give a damn 'bout the money. I've got to git the ile! (Glancing sharply at the MATE) You ain't turnin' no damned sea lawyer, be you, Mr. Slocum?
MATE (flushing). Not by a hell of a sight, sir.
KEENEY. What do the fools want to go home fur now? Their share o' the four hundred barrel wouldn't keep 'em in chewin' terbacco.
MATE (slowly). They wants to git back to their folks an' things,
I s'pose.
KEENEY (looking at him searchingly). 'N' you want to turn back, too. (THE MATE looks down confusedly before his sharp gaze.) Don't lie, Mr. Slocum. It's writ down plain in your eyes. (With grim sarcasm) I hope, Mr. Slocum, you ain't agoin' to jine the men agin me.