one does not like. The sea does not give up its dead as the earth
does."

"You forget the whale, sir," said young Powell.

Mr. Smith gave a start. "Eh? What whale? Oh! Jonah. I wasn't
thinking of Jonah. I was thinking of this passage which seems so quick
to you. But only think what it is to me? It isn't a life, going about
the sea like this. And, for instance, if one were to fall ill, there
isn't a doctor to find out what's the matter with one. It's worrying. It
makes me anxious at times."

"Is Mrs. Anthony not feeling well?" asked Powell. But Mr. Smith's remark
was not meant for Mrs. Anthony. She was well. He himself was well. It
was the captain's health that did not seem quite satisfactory. Had Mr.
Powell noticed his appearance?

Mr. Powell didn't know enough of the captain to judge. He couldn't tell.
But he observed thoughtfully that Mr. Franklin had been saying the same
thing. And Franklin had known the captain for years. The mate was quite
worried about it.

This intelligence startled Mr. Smith considerably. "Does he think he is
in danger of dying?" he exclaimed with an animation quite extraordinary
for him, which horrified Mr. Powell.

"Heavens! Die! No! Don't you alarm yourself, sir. I've never heard a
word about danger from Mr. Franklin."

"Well, well," sighed Mr. Smith and left the poop for the saloon rather
abruptly.

As a matter of fact Mr. Franklin had been on deck for some considerable
time. He had come to relieve young Powell; but seeing him engaged in
talk with the "enemy"--with one of the "enemies" at least--had kept at a
distance, which, the poop of the _Ferndale_ being aver seventy feet long,
he had no difficulty in doing. Mr. Powell saw him at the head of the
ladder leaning on his elbow, melancholy and silent. "Oh! Here you are,
sir."

"Here I am. Here I've been ever since six o'clock. Didn't want to
interrupt the pleasant conversation. If you like to put in half of your
watch below jawing with a dear friend, that's not my affair. Funny taste
though."

"He isn't a bad chap," said the impartial Powell.

The mate snorted angrily, tapping the deck with his foot; then: "Isn't
he? Well, give him my love when you come together again for another nice
long yarn."

"I say, Mr. Franklin, I wonder the captain don't take offence at your
manners."

"The captain. I wish to goodness he would start a row with me. Then I
should know at least I am somebody on board.