She followed aft to the captain's room. He did not rise when she
entered, but turned in his chair and relinquished a long, black,
fragrant cigar.

"Don't stop smoking," she said. "I want you in a pleasant mood to hear
what I have to say."

Without reply he placed the cigar in his mouth and the bright black
eyes fastened upon her. That suddenly intent regard was startling, as
if he had leaned over and spoken a word in her ear. She shrugged her
shoulders as if trying to shake off a compelling hand and then settled
into a chair.

"I've come to say something that's disagreeable for you to hear and for
me to speak."

Still he would not talk. He was as silent as Harrigan. She clenched her
hands and drove bravely ahead. She told how she had called the
red-headed sailor up to the after-cabin and dressed his hurts, and she
described succinctly, but with rising anger the raw and swollen
condition of his fingers. The captain listened with apparent enjoyment;
she could not tell whether he was relishing her story or his slowly
puffed cigar. In the end she waited for his answer, but evidently none
was forthcoming.

"Now," she said at last, "I know something about ships and sailors, and
I know that if this fellow was to appeal against you after you touch
port, a judge would weigh a single word of yours against a whole
sentence of Harrigan's. It would be a different matter if a
disinterested person pressed a charge of cruelty against you. I am such