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.

MATE (_indignantly_). That ain't fair, sir, to say sich things.

KEENEY (_with satisfaction_). I warn't much afeard o' that, Tom.
You been with me nigh on ten year and I've learned ye whalin'. No
man kin say I ain't a good master, if I be a hard one.

MATE. I warn't thinkin' of myself, sir--'bout turnin' home, I
mean. (_Desperately_) But Mrs. Keeney, sir--seems like she ain't
jest satisfied up here, ailin' like--what with the cold an' bad
luck an' the ice an' all.

KEENEY (_his face clouding--rebukingly but not severely_). That's
my business, Mr. Slocum. I'll thank you to steer a clear course o'
that. (_A pause._) The ice'll break up soon to no'th'rd. I could
see it startin' to-day. And when it goes and we git some sun,
Annie'll perk up. (_Another pause--then he bursts forth_) It ain't
the damned money what's keepin' me up in the Northern seas, Tom.
But I can't go back to Homeport with a measly four hundred barrel
of ile. I'd die fust. I ain't never come back home in all my days
without a full ship. Ain't that truth?

MATE. Yes, sir; but this voyage you been ice-bound, an'--

KEENEY (_scornfully_). And d' you s'pose any of 'em would believe
that--any o' them skippers I've beaten voyage after voyage? Can't
you hear 'em laughin' and sneerin'--Tibbots 'n' Harris 'n' Simms
and the rest--and all o' Homeport makin' fun o' me? "Dave Keeney
what boasts he's the best whalin' skipper out o' Homeport comin'
back with a measly four hundred barrel of ile?" (_The thought of
this drives him into a frenzy, and he smashes his fist down on
the marble top of the sideboard._) Hell! I got to git the ile, I
tell you. How could I figger on this ice? It's never been so bad
before in the thirty year I been a-comin' here. And now it's
breakin'up. In a couple o'days it'll be all gone. And they's
whale here, plenty of 'em. I know they is and I ain't never gone
wrong yit. I got to git the ile! I got to git it in spite of all
hell, and by God, I ain't a-goin' home till I do git it!

(_There is the sound of subdued sobbing from the door in rear. The
two men stand silent for a moment, listening. Then_ KEENEY _goes
over to the door and looks in. He hesitates for a moment as if he
were going to enter--then closes the door softly._ JOE, _the
harpooner, an enormous six-footer with a battered, ugly face,
enters from