There!" The cook heard him forward, ran out of the
galley lifting his arms, horrified, unbelieving, amazed, and ran in
again. There was a moment of profound silence during which a bow-legged
seaman, stepping aside, expectorated decorously into the scupper. "There
is another thing," said the master, calmly. He made a quick stride and
with a swing took an iron belaying-pin out of his pocket. "This!" His
movement was so unexpected and sudden that the crowd stepped back. He
gazed fixedly at their faces, and some at once put on a surprised air as
though they had never seen a belay-ing-pin before. He held it up. "This
is my affair. I don't ask you any questions, but you all know it; it has
got to go where it came from." His eyes became angry. The crowd stirred
uneasily. They looked away from the piece of iron, they appeared shy,
they were embarrassed and shocked as though it had been something
horrid, scandalous, or indelicate, that in common decency should not
have been flourished like this in broad daylight. The master watched
them attentively. "Donkin," he called out in a short, sharp tone.
Donkin dodged behind one, then behind another, but they looked over
their shoulders and moved aside.
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