Chapter XXX
In Which I at Last Set My Face Homeward with Determination
When I came up from the captain’s room I stepped out on deck face to face with my cousin, Paul Downes. He tried to sneak past me, but I seized him by the shoulder and jammed him up against the side of the house.
“You lemme go, Clint Webb!” he whined. “I don’t want nothing to do with you—now, I tell you!”
“I bet you don’t want anything to do with me,” I replied, eyeing him with some curiosity.
Paul looked as though he had had a hard time of it. He was dressed in the roughest sort of clothing, he had a bruised face (I fear Ben Gibson had punished him for disrespect, for Paul was just the sort of a fellow to try and take advantage of the second mate’s youth) and altogether he was a most disreputable and hang-dog looking creature.
“I’d never come aboard this old tub if I’d known what whaling was like,” whined Paul. “And now I want you to get this captain to let me off. You’re going home, they tell me.”
“I hope to get away about as soon as we arrive as Punta Arenas,” I declared.
“Then I want you to get me away from this place, too. You’ll have money enough to pay both our fares home——”
“Well, I never heard of such cheek!” I interrupted.