The Cruise of the Dry Dock | Page 8

say a worrd, I quit lookin' at you complately."
"I couldn't hear for the gulls--I'll be all right in a minute."
Leonard looked around and saw Caradoc massaging his twisted arm.
He had an impulse to thank the Briton, but he changed it to, "I hope
your arm isn't badly wrenched, Smith."
"Quite all right," assured the tall fellow cheerfully.
The men began to scatter to work again.
That day at lunch the ship's fare was garnished with an abundance of
delicious pilchards. The whole crew wore a holiday air. During the
afternoon the men sang at their work and labored so merrily and so well
that a broad wash of paint was added to the outside wall.
Leonard, whose side was sore enough from the thump, did not work.
Even the mate suggested that he take a leave of absence, and stay in his
bunk if he would.
The boy went at once to his cabin and began hunting in his suit case for
a little medicine chest which he always carried. He wanted arnica for
his bruised side. To his surprise he could not find it. He gave his bag a
thorough search, tumbling garments, trinkets, souvenirs, curiosities,
helter skelter over his bunk, but failed to find his case.
The loss of the medical carry-all distressed Madden. It had proved

useful in the past. However, he hunted up the mate and begged a
liniment, which must have had a wonderful virtue if a powerful odor
was any indication.
Leonard rubbed the stuff on his side and turned into his bunk. His side
grew so sore he wondered whether or not his ribs really were broken
after all. In his dark den he could still hear the gulls wailing, although
the tug had passed the major portion of the shoaling pilchards. There
also came to him the constant creaking of the dock, the slow dull
recurrence of the ground swell against her bow. The boy's mind
centered fretfully on his lost medicine chest. No doubt it was stolen,
and he began wondering which of the crew had taken it. His suspicion
played idly over the crew, and then settled on the youth called Greer.
His reason for this was that Greer said very little. Madden thought this
must be the sign of a guilty conscience.
He did not brood long, however, as the monotonous sounds exerted a
hypnotic effect on his senses. Once or twice as he was almost falling
asleep, he felt himself clinging desperately to Caradoc's hand, his grip
weakening, the fearsome void gaping under him, then he would awake
with a start that sent a knife of pain through his bruised ribs. After that
he would be forced to feel once more to test his costal region for
broken bones. Finally the vision failed to paint itself, or did not rouse
him, and he slept.
After an indeterminate interval, he was awakened by someone entering
the room. It was fairly dark now and by lifting a head over the side of
his berth, he saw the outline of the Frenchman standing by the door.
Madden thought of the stolen medicine chest and remained silent.
The Gaul was about to withdraw when Madden called out.
"What is it, Deschaillon?"
"I just came by to say your frien' ees in trouble. Zay play cards in zee
salon. Smeeth he win beaucoup. Zay quarrel, perhaps zay fight. He ees
your frien', and--"

Leonard smiled when he heard the mess hall dignified into a salon; but
at the latter end of the sentence he sat up suddenly in his bunk and
began pulling on his jacket despite the twinges in his side.
"Eh, how's that--fight?"
At that instant Hogan lolled against the jamb and announced his
entrance with a laugh.
"What's this Deschaillon's telling me, Mike--the men fighting over
cards?"
"Sure now I heard him and told him not to be wakin' a sick man up for
sich trifles. They was a few raymarks ixchanged, but nawthin' ser'us."
He turned reproachfully on the Gaul. "Nixt time be advised by me and
don't be wakin' a sick man for nawthin'."
The two walked away and Leonard leaned back in his bunk, quite
sleepless now. He stared into the blackness, his mind a moving picture
show of the last three days. The Englishman was chief actor on this
stage, and his disagreeably mixed character puzzled and disturbed the
American. Caradoc's language and manners showed him to be a man of
breeding, but he was full of contradictory habits. His uncosmopolitan
moodiness, his vulgar quarreling over cards, were typical instances.
Leonard almost regretted that he had formed an uncomfortable
intimacy with the fellow, but he could not very well break it off now
since Smith had saved him from a fall that might easily have