"I know it. Wait and see."
After a little, she spoke of the ill luck that had pursued the _Sally_.
"Isn't it unusual to go almost six weeks without getting a whale?"
"No, not necessarily," he told her. "You may kill every other day for a
year, and not see a fish for three months after. The whale seems to come
and go, in some waters...."
"These?" she asked.
He nodded. "It's uncertain, here. We're working over now into better
hunting grounds. The _Sally's_ done well, thus far, anyway. Almost a
thousand barrels, and not out a year. I've heard of ships that came home
with empty casks."
She looked at him curiously. "I think you know more about the work than
most men aboard," she said. "Yet you've not had the experience...."
"I've picked it up at games, read it, guessed it," he said pleasantly.
"They know more about the practical end than I. I haven't been tried out
yet, you know."
She smiled. "Mr. Tichel says you're a Jonah," she told him. "I think he
would be in favor of throwing you overboard."
He laughed cheerfully. She added: "I hope you're not one. I'm anxious
that Cap'n Wing should make a big record on this cruise. It's my first
with him, you know...."
His eyes were sober; but he said: "We'll fill the casks, all right. I
wouldn't worry."
She looked toward him and said: "Yes, we will." There was an immense
amount of quiet certainty and determination in her voice. Brander looked
at her for an instant, then turned to give some direction to the man at
the wheel. The _Sally_ heeled awkwardly to the thrust of the wind, and
battered at the sea with her blunt bows. The rigging creaked and tugged.
Willis Cox, under the boathouse, had dropped his book in his lap and was
dozing in his chair; the two harpooners had gone below. Forward, Faith
could see two or three men sprawled on the deck, asleep.... The warm,
afternoon wind seemed slumber laden; the _Sally Sims_ herself was like
a ship that walked in her sleep. A hush hung over them all, so that
Faith and Brander unconsciously lowered their voices.
Faith asked casually: "Why is it that you and Mr. Tobey do not like each
other?"
If he was surprised at the question, Brander did not show it. He said
frankly: "I've no dislike for Mr. Tobey. He's an able officer. He knows
his business."
"He does not like you," Faith said. "Why not?"
Brander smiled. "It may be," he admitted, "that Mr. Tobey is lacking in
a sense of humor. I've a way of laughing at things.... Mr. Trant, on the
_Thomas Morgan_, used to curse me for grinning so much of the time.
Perhaps Mr. Tobey...."
He did not finish the sentence; he seemed to consider it unnecessary, or
unwise.... Faith said nothing.... They stood together, eyes off across
the water, balancing unconsciously to the motion of the ship. Their
shoulders were almost brushing.... Brander felt the light contact on his
coat; and he moved away a little, inconspicuously....
She turned at last toward the companion; but after one step, stopped and
looked back at him. "I think," she said, "that Mr. Tobey believes you
mean to claim that find of ambergris belongs to you."
Brander smiled, and nodded. "I know he does. There's no harm in puzzling
Mr. Tobey."
"There may be harm--for you--in his believing that," she said; and for a
moment Brander's level eyes met hers, and she saw a flame in his. He
said quietly:
"I'm not particularly concerned...."
She bowed her head, to hide her eyes; and she went below so quickly it
was as though she fled from him.