She was certainly not acutely aware that his hand was touching hers. In
her grief at the departure of the _Martha_ it was, to her, anybody's
hand--at the best, a friend's hand.
He withdrew his hand and walked perturbedly away.
"Why hasn't he got that big fisherman's staysail on her?" she demanded
irritably. "It would make the old girl just walk along in this breeze. I
know the sort old Kinross is. He's the skipper that lies three days
under double-reefed topsails waiting for a gale that doesn't come. Safe?
Oh, yes, he's safe--dangerously safe."
Sheldon retraced his steps.
"Never mind," he said. "You can go sailing on the _Martha_ any time you
please--recruiting on Malaita if you want to."
It was a great concession he was making, and he felt that he did it
against his better judgment. Her reception of it was a surprise to him.
"With old Kinross in command?" she queried. "No, thank you. He'd drive
me to suicide. I couldn't stand his handling of her. It would give me
nervous prostration. I'll never step on the _Martha_ again, unless it is
to take charge of her. I'm a sailor, like my father, and he could never
bear to see a vessel mishandled. Did you see the way Kinross got under
way? It was disgraceful. And the noise he made about it! Old Noah did
better with the Ark.
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