give him some satisfaction. He
listened, smiled faintly muttered "Dicky, poor Dick--" and fell back
into the immense silence of the world. His eyes closed, his head hung
low over the hot brass of the binnacle top. Suddenly he stood up with a
jerk and said sharply in a hoarse voice:

"You've been sleeping--you. Shift the helm. She has got stern way on
her."

The Malay, without the least flinch of feature or pose, as if he had
been an inanimate object called suddenly into life by some hidden magic
of the words, spun the wheel rapidly, letting the spokes pass through
his hands; and when the motion had stopped with a grinding noise, caught
hold again and held on grimly. After a while, however, he turned his
head slowly over his shoulder, glanced at the sea, and said in an
obstinate tone:

"No catch wind--no get way."

"No catch--no catch--that's all you know about it," growled the
red-faced seaman. "By and by catch Ali--" he went on with sudden
condescension. "By and by catch, and then the helm will be the right
way. See?"

The stolid seacannie appeared to see, and for that matter to hear,
nothing. The white man looked at the impassive Malay with disgust,
then glanced around the horizon--then again at the helmsman and ordered
curtly:

"Shift the helm back again. Don't you feel the air from aft? You are
like a dummy standing there."

The Malay revolved the spokes again with disdainful obedience, and the
red-faced man was moving forward grunting to himself, when through the
open skylight the hail "On deck there!" arrested him short, attentive,
and with a sudden change to amiability in the expression of his face.

"Yes, sir," he said, bending his ear toward the opening. "What's the
matter up there?" asked a deep voice from below.

The red-faced man in a tone of surprise said:

"Sir?"

"I hear that rudder grinding hard up and hard down. What are you up to,
Shaw? Any wind?"

"Ye-es," drawled Shaw, putting his head down the skylight and speaking
into the gloom of the cabin. "I thought there was a light air, and--but
it's gone now. Not a breath anywhere under the heavens."

He withdrew his head and waited a while by the skylight, but heard
only the chirping of the indefatigable canary, a feeble twittering that
seemed to ooze through the drooping red blossoms of geraniums growing in
flower-pots under the glass panes. He strolled away a step or two before
the voice from down below called hurriedly:

"Hey, Shaw?