rdid and terrible
aspects was a thing with which I had been unacquainted till now. As I
say, while I appreciated the power of the terrific denunciation that
swept out of Wolf Larsen's mouth, I was inexpressibly shocked. The
scorching torrent was enough to wither the face of the corpse. I should
not have been surprised if the wet black beard had frizzled and curled
and flared up in smoke and flame. But the dead man was unconcerned. He
continued to grin with a sardonic humour, with a cynical mockery and
defiance. He was master of the situation.

CHAPTER III

Wolf Larsen ceased swearing as suddenly as he had begun. He relighted
his cigar and glanced around. His eyes chanced upon the cook.

"Well, Cooky?" he began, with a suaveness that was cold and of the temper
of steel.

"Yes, sir," the cook eagerly interpolated, with appeasing and apologetic
servility.

"Don't you think you've stretched that neck of yours just about enough?
It's unhealthy, you know. The mate's gone, so I can't afford to lose you
too. You must be very, very careful of your health, Cooky. Understand?"

His last word, in striking contrast with the smoothness of his previous
utterance, snapped like the lash of a whip. The cook quailed under it.

"Yes, sir," was the meek reply, as the offending head disappeared into
the galley.

At this sweeping rebuke, which the cook had only pointed, the rest of the
crew became uninterested and fell to work at one task or another. A
number of men, however, who were lounging about a companion-way between
the galley and hatch, and who did not seem to be sailors, continued
talking in low tones with one another. These, I afterward learned, were
the hunters, the men who shot the seals, and a very superior breed to
common sailor-folk.

"Johansen!" Wolf Larsen called out. A sailor stepped forward obediently.
"Get your palm and needle and sew the beggar up. You'll find some old
canvas in the sail-locker. Make it do."

"What'll I put on his feet, sir?" the man asked, after the customary "Ay,
ay, sir."

"We'll see to that," Wolf Larsen answered, and elevated his voice in a
call of "Cooky!"

Thomas Mugridge popped out of his galley like a jack-in-the-box.

"Go below and fill a sack with coal."

"Any of you fellows got a Bible or Prayer-book?" was the captain's next
demand, this time of the hunters lounging about the companion-way.

They shook their heads, and some one made a jocular remark