it," Daughtry was debating aloud to Big John,
when a new voice entered the discussion.

"Cocky!--Cocky!" came plaintive tones from below out of the steerage
companion.

"Devil be damned!" was the next, uttered in irritation and anger. "Devil
be damned! Devil be damned!"

"Of course not," was Daughtry's judgment, as he dashed across the deck,
crawled through the confusion of the main-topmast and its many stays that
blocked the way, and found the tiny, white morsel of life perched on a
bunk-edge, ruffling its feathers, erecting and flattening its rosy crest,
and cursing in honest human speech the waywardness of the world and of
ships and humans upon the sea.

The cockatoo stepped upon Daughtry's inviting index finger, swiftly
ascended his shirt sleeve, and, on his shoulder, claws sunk into the
flimsy shirt fabric till they hurt the flesh beneath, leaned head to ear
and uttered in gratitude and relief, and in self-identification: "Cocky.
Cocky."

"You son of a gun," Daughtry crooned.

"Glory be!" Cooky replied, in tones so like Daughtry's as to startle him.

"You son of a gun," Daughtry repeated, cuddling his cheek and ear against
the cockatoo's feathered and crested head. "And some folks thinks it's
only folks that count in this world."

Still the whale delayed, and, with the ocean washing their toes on the
level deck, Daughtry ordered the boat lowered away. Ah Moy was eager in
his haste to leap into the bow. Nor was Daughtry's judgment correct that
the little Chinaman's haste was due to fear of the sinking ship. What Ah
Moy sought was the place in the boat remotest from Kwaque and the
steward.

Shoving clear, they roughly stored the supplies and dunnage out of the
way of the thwarts and took their places, Ah Moy pulling bow-oar, next in
order Big John and Kwaque, with Daughtry (Cocky still perched on his
shoulder) at stroke. On top of the dunnage, in the sternsheets, Michael
gazed wistfully at the _Mary Turner_ and continued to snarl crustily at
Scraps who idiotically wanted to start a romp. The Ancient Mariner stood
up at the steering sweep and gave the order, when all was ready, for the
first dip of the oars.

A growl and a bristle from Michael warned them that the whale was not
only coming but was close upon them. But it was not charging. Instead,
it circled slowly about the schooner as if examining its antagonist.

"I'll bet it's head's sore from all that banging, an' it's beginnin' to
feel it