XI

           Sternecrossedthedeckuponthetrackofthechiefengineer.Jack,thesecond,retreatingbackwardsdowntheengine-roomladder,andstillwipinghishands,treatedhimtoanincomprehensiblegrinofwhiteteethoutofhisgrimyhardface;Massywasnowheretobeseen.Hemusthavegonestraightintohisberth.Sternescratchedatthedoorsoftly,then,puttinghislipstotheroseoftheventilator,said—

           “Imustspeaktoyou,Mr.Massy.Justgivemeaminuteortwo.”

           “Iambusy.Goawayfrommydoor.”

           “Butpray,Mr.Massy...”

           “Yougoaway.D’youhear?Takeyourselfoffaltogether—totheotherendoftheship—quiteaway...”Thevoiceinsidedroppedlow.“Tothedevil.”

           Sternepaused:thenveryquietly—

           “It’sratherpressing.Whendoyouthinkyouwillbeatliberty,sir?”

           Theanswertothiswasanexasperated“Never”;andatonceSterne,withaveryfirmexpressionofface,turnedthehandle.

           Mr.Massy’sstateroom—anarrow,one-berthcabin—smeltstronglyofsoap,andpresentedtoviewaswept,dusted,unadornedneatness,notsomuchbareasbarren,notsomuchsevereasstarvedandlackinginhumanity,likethewardofapublichospital,orrather(owingtothesmallsize)likethecleanretreatofadesperatelypoorbutexemplaryperson.Notasinglephotographframeornamentedthebulkheads;notasinglearticleofclothing,notasmuchasasparecap,hungfromthebrasshooks.Alltheinsidewaspaintedinoneplaintintofpaleblue;twobigsea-chestsinsailclothcoversandwithironpadlocksfittedexactlyinthespaceunderthebunk.