He sat smiling at Johnny.
"We-ll," he drawled. "How about it, Johnny? Goin'?"
Johnny had been studying, his eyes on the floor.
"I'll go with you," he said.
Then again for a half minute nobody spoke. Captain Hammar glared,
letting us see what was in his dark mind. Old Conboy shrunk into himself
and Deolda sat with her wild eyes going from one to the other, but not
moving. We were all thinking of what old Conboy had said just before
Captain Hammar had flung open the door. A sudden impulse seized me; I
wanted to cry out: "Don't go, Johnny. He'll shove you overboard." For I
knew that was what was in "Nick" Hammar's mind as well as if he had told
me. A terrible excitement went through me. I wanted to fling myself at
"Nick" Hammar and beat him with my fists and say, "He sha'n't go--he
sha'n't, he sha'n't!" But I sat there unable to move or speak. Then
suddenly into the frozen silence came the voice of "Nick" Hammar. This
is what he said in his easy and tranquil way:
"Well, I'm goin' along. Are you coming, Conboy?" He spoke as though
nothing had happened. "I'll meet you down at the wharf, Johnny, in a
half hour. I'll leave you to say good-by to Deolda." They went out, the
wind blowing the door shut behind them.
Deolda got up and so did Johnny. They stood facing each other in the
queer yellow light of the coming storm.
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