The nigger whistled
low.--"Ran?" he said curtly. Donkin nodded: one of his cheeks bulged
out. "In course I ran," he mumbled. "They booted the life hout of
one Dago chap on the passage 'ere, then started on me. I cleared hout
'ere.--" "Left your dunnage behind?"--"Yes, dunnage and money," answered
Donkin, raising his voice a little; "I got nothink. No clothes, no bed.
A bandy-legged little Hirish chap 'ere 'as give me a blanket. Think I'll
go an' sleep in the fore topmast staysail to-night."
He went on deck trailing behind his back a corner of the blanket.
Singleton, without a glance, moved slightly aside to let him pass. The
nigger put away his shore togs and sat in clean working clothes on his
box, one arm stretched over his knees. After staring at Singleton for
some time he asked without emphasis:--"What kind of ship is this? Pretty
fair? Eh?"
Singleton didn't stir. A long while after he said, with unmoved
face:--"Ship!... Ships are all right. It is the men in them!"
He went on smoking in the profound silence. The wisdom of half a century
spent in listening to the thunder of the waves had spoken unconsciously
through his old lips.
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