But gossips said
no crueller man ever drove a crew for the third summer into the Northern
Seas. I didn't like the way he looked at Deolda from the first, with his
narrowed eyes and his smiling mouth. My aunt didn't like the way she
signaled back to him. We watched them go, my aunt saying
"No good'll come of that!" And no good did.
All three of them came back excited and laughing. Old Conboy, tall as
Mark Hammar, wide-shouldered, shambling like a bear, but a fine figure
of an old fellow for all that; Mark Hammar, heavy and splendid in his
sinister fashion; and between them Deolda with her big, red mouth and
her sallow skin and her eyes burning as they did when she was excited.
"I'm saying to Deolda here," said Captain Hammar, coming up to my aunt,
"that I'll make a better runnin' mate than Conboy." He drew her up to
him. There was something alike about them; the same devil flamed out of
the eyes of both of them. Their glances met like forked lightning. "I've
got a lot more money than him, too," said Hammar, jerking his thumb
toward Conboy. He roused the devil in Deolda.
"You may have more money," said she, "but you'll live longer! And I want
to be a rich widow!"
"Stop your joking," my aunt said, sharply. "It don't sound nice."
"Joking?" says Captain Hammar, letting his big head lunge forward.
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