"
"And when is it coming off?"
"Soon's we go off watch--eight bells."
"Eight bells? Four o'clock." Noyes drew out his watch. "Why, it's nine
minutes to that now."
"So near? Then I'd better begin to knock off, if I'm going to wash off
and be ready in time, hadn't I?" He finished his thread, gathered up his
stock and dies, and strolled off.
Noyes headed for the bridge. The captain's glance, as he came up the
ladder, was not at all encouraging; but Noyes was already weary of the
captain's hectoring glances.
"Captain, are you going to let it go on?" he asked, and not too
deferentially.
"Let what go on?"
"That fight. They're going to have it out in a few minutes. Aft
there--look."
"I'm not looking. And I'll take good care I don't--not in that
direction. And what I don't see I can't stop, can I? Besides, I hope he
beats that pump-man to a jelly."
"Why, what's wrong with him?"
"Wrong? He's dangerous."
"Dangerous?"
"Dangerous, yes. Why, look at the mop of hair and the eyes of him. He's
one of those trouble-hunters, that chap. And if troubles don't turn up
naturally, he'll go out and dig them up. He's like one of those kind I
read about once--used to live a thousand years ago. All he needs is a
horse seventeen hands high, and a wash-boiler on his chest, and a tin
kettle on his head, and one of those long lances, and he'd go tilting
about the country like that Don Quick-sote--"
"Don what?"
"Quick-sote--Quick-sote.
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