Part 21 (1/2)
As I buttered a piece of bread my eyes chanced to rest upon my hand The knuckles were skinned and inflaers swollen, the nails rirowth of beard on my neck, knew that the sleeve offrom the throat of the blue shi+rt I wore The dirk mentioned by Wolf Larsen rested in its sheath on my hip It was very natural that it should be there,-how natural I had not iined until nohen I looked upon it with her eyes and kne strange it and all that ith it must appear to her
But she divined the ain favoured lance But there was a look of bewilderment also in her eyes That it wasto her
”I ested
”There will be no passing vessels, except other sealing-schooners,” Wolf Larsen ,” she objected ”You hardly realize, sir, that I arant, careless life which you and your et accustomed to it, the better,” he said
”I'll furnish you with cloth, needles, and thread,” he added ”I hope it will not be too dreadful a hardshi+p for you to make yourself a dress or two”
She h to advertise her ignorance of dresshtened and bewildered, and that she was bravely striving to hide it, was quite plain to me
”I suppose you're like Mr Van Weyden there, accusto a few things for yourself will hardly dislocate any joints By the hat do you do for a living?”
She regarded him with amazement unconcealed
”I mean no offence, believe me People eat, therefore they must procure the ithal These men here shoot seals in order to live; for the same reason I sail this schooner; and Mr Van Weyden, for the present at any rate, earns his salty grub by assisting ed her shoulders
”Do you feed yourself? Or does some one else feed you?”
”I'hed, trying bravely to enter into the spirit of his quizzing, though I could see a terror dawning and growing in her eyes as she watched Wolf Larsen
”And I suppose some one else makes your bed for you?”
”I have made beds,” she replied
”Very often?”
She shook her head with mock ruefulness
”Do you knohat they do to poor ?”
”I anorant,” she pleaded ”What do they do to the poor men who are likea living, in their case, is called vagrancy If I were Mr Van Weyden, who harps eternally on questions of right and wrong, I'd ask, by what right do you live when you do nothing to deserve living?”
”But as you are not Mr Van Weyden, I don't have to answer, do I?”
She beah her terror-filled eyes, and the pathos of it cut me to the heart I must in some way break in and lead the conversation into other channels
”Have you ever earned a dollar by your own labour?” he demanded, certain of her answer, a triumphant vindictiveness in his voice