jerked himself into his tweed jacket surlily, while the second waited with a scowl.
"Oh. You came out? You sot! Well, what have you got to say for yourself?"
He had been in charge of the engines till then. A somber fury darkened his mind: a hot anger against the ship, against the facts of life, against the men for their cheating, against himself too--because of an inward tremor of his heart.
An incomprehensible growl answered him.
"What? Can't you open your mouth now? You yelp out your infernal rot loud enough when you are drunk. What do you mean by abusing people in that way?--you old useless boozer, you!"
"Can't help it. Don't remember anything about it. You shouldn't listen."
"You dare to tell me! What do you mean by going on a drunk like this!"
"Don't ask me. Sick of the dam' boilers--you would be. Sick of life."
"I wish you were dead, then. You've made me sick of you. Don't you remember the uproar you made last night? You miserable old soaker!"
"No; I don't. Don't want to. Drink is drink."
"I wonder what prevents me from kicking you out. What do you want here?"
"Relieve you. You've been long enough down there, George."
"Don't you George me--you tippling old rascal, you! If I were to die to-morrow you would starve. Remember that. Say Mr. Massy."
"Mr. Massy," repeated the other stolidly.
