..."
He foamed, whirling his arms, then suddenly grinned and, taking
a tablet of black tobacco out of his pocket, bit a piece off with
a funny show of ferocity. Another new hand--a man with shifty eyes and
a yellow hatchet face, who had been listening open-mouthed in the shadow
of the midship locker--observed in a squeaky voice:--"Well, it's a
'omeward trip, anyhow. Bad or good, I can do it on my 'ed--s'long as
I get 'ome. And I can look after my rights! I will show 'em!" All the
heads turned towards him. Only the ordinary seaman and the cat took no
notice. He stood with arms akimbo, a little fellow with white eyelashes.
He looked as if he had known all the degradations and all the furies. He
looked as if he had been cuffed, kicked, rolled in the mud; he looked as
if he had been scratched, spat upon, pelted with unmentionable filth...
and he smiled with a sense of security at the faces around. His ears
were bending down under the weight of his battered felt hat. The torn
tails of his black coat flapped in fringes about the calves of his legs.
He unbuttoned the only two buttons that remained and every one saw that
he had no shirt under it.
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