Phil’s mind wavered between the decision that Lazar would give him a fair showing, and the contrary one that he would make his life as unpleasant as possible; and from the accounts he had heard of Beaty, the midshipman in the hospital with “too much Lazar,” as one of the midshipmen had diagnosed his complaint, he knew his new divisional officer, by voice and action, could make the life of one he disliked so unhappy that a cot in the hospital might be preferable.
He found his work on the forecastle just what he needed to keep his mind off his troubles, and in the language of O’Neil: “he made good,” as he encouraged, directed and helped the men handle the bulky packages.
“That’s a fine young gentleman,” O’Neil confided to a brother petty officer, as he watched Phil put his shoulder against a twelve-inch shell and guide it clear of an iron hatch top. “Do you see the way the boys are working? As if they were to get shore leave at the end of this job. It’s a pity to see him spoil them bright new clothes, but when I tried to help him he told me he wanted exercise.”
Phil had found his thoughts very unpleasant companions as he had watched the work progress, and now doing the manual labor of a leading man, he had forgotten, for the time at least, the sombre reflections that had, like spectres, come into his mind.
Would this man attempt to ruin him? And could he do so if he so wished?
He considered going to the captain and asking to be assigned to another division, stating his reasons, but he saw immediately how childish it would seem to that busy officer. A boys’ quarrel, long ago forgotten, he would call it.
Phil wished it were so.
CHAPTER II
UNDER ARREST
Phil awakened the next morning at an early hour. Hurriedly dressing, he went on deck.
His sleep had refreshed him and his mind was less ready to dwell on the dark side of his life on board ship. He believed when he and Lazar had become better acquainted the old grudge would be overshadowed in the intimacy of the life on the ocean.