Dan's hands closed; for an instant he glared rebellion from blood-shot eyes. Then the iron law of sea discipline conquering, he turned to Larry.
"The Blessed Virgin aise you, poor Mouse!" he mumbled huskily and slouched out through the door.
At midday the San Gardo's captain got a shot at the sun. Though his vessel had been headed steadily northeast for more than thirty hours, the observation showed that she had made twenty-eight miles sternway to the southwest. By two in the afternoon the wind had dropped to half a gale, making a change of course possible. The captain signaled full speed ahead, and the ship, swinging about, began limping across the gulf, headed once more toward Galveston.
Neville, who had slept like a stone, came on deck just before sunset. The piled-up seas, racing along the side, had lost their breaking crests; the ship rose and fell with some degree of regularity. He called the boatswain and went to the store-room.
They found Larry in one of his conscious moments.
"Well, Mouse, we're going to fix you in a better place," the engineer called with what heart he could show.
"Thank you kindly, sir," Larry managed to answer; "but 't is my last voyage, Mr. Neville." And the grit that lay hidden in the man's soul showed in his pain-twisted smile.
They carried him up the last flight of iron stairs to the deck. Clear of the engine-room, the boatswain turned toward the bow.
"No. The other way, Boson," Neville ordered.
The chief, passing them, stopped.