There was a silence. He turned his
head just the least bit, and stole a cautious glance. The cook's lips
moved without a sound; his face was rapt, his eyes turned up. He seemed
to be mentally imploring deck beams, the brass hook of the lamp, two
cockroaches.
"Look here," said Wait, "I want to go to sleep. I think I could."
"This is no time for sleep!" exclaimed the cook, very loud. He had
prayerfully divested himself of the last vestige of his humanity. He was
a voice--a fleshless and sublime thing, as on that memorable night--the
night when he went walking over the sea to make coffee for perishing
sinners. "This is no time for sleeping," he repeated with exaltation. "I
can't sleep."
"Don't care damn," said Wait, with factitious energy. "I can. Go an'
turn in."
"Swear... in the very jaws!... In the very jaws! Don't you see the
everlasting fire... don't you feel it? Blind, chockfull of sin! Repent,
repent! I can't bear to think of you. I hear the call to save you. Night
and day. Jimmy, let me save you!" The words of entreaty and menace
broke out of him in a roaring torrent. The cockroaches ran away. Jimmy
perspired, wriggling stealthily under his blanket.
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