Part 20 (1/2)
”Explain.”
”It's McTee again, d.a.m.n his eyes!”
”Do you mean to say they've started to treat you as they did on the _Mary Rogers_? The scrubbing and then the work in the fireroom?”
”Right.”
She stamped her foot in impotent fury.
”What manner of man is he, Dan? He's not all brute; why does he treat you like this?”
The Irishman smiled.
She cried with increasing anger: ”What can I do?”
”Make your skin yellow an' your hair gray an' walk with no spring in your step. He wants to break me now because of you.”
There was moist pity in her eyes, yet they gleamed with excitement at the thought of this battle of the t.i.tans for her sake.
”I will go to him,” she said after a moment, ”and tell him that you mean nothing to me. Then he will stop.”
The cold, incurious eyes studied her without pa.s.sion, and once more he smiled.
”He'll not stop. Whether you like me or not, Kate, doesn't count. One of us'll go down, an' you'll be for the one that's left. He knows it--I know it.”
”Harrigan!” called the voice of McTee from the bridge, and the tall Scotchman lifted his cap to Kate.
”I'm the slave,” said Harrigan, ”and there's the whip. Good-by.”
She stamped her foot with an almost childish fury, saying: ”Someday he shall regret this brutal tyranny. Good-by, Dan, and good luck!”
She took his hand in both of hers, but her eyes held spitefully upon the bridge, as if she hoped that McTee would witness the handshake; the captain, however, had turned his back upon them.
Dan muttered to himself as he climbed the bridge: ”Did she do that to anger McTee or to please me?” And the thought so occupied his mind that he paid no attention to the Scotchman when he reached the bridge. He merely dropped to his knees and commenced scrubbing. McTee, in the meanwhile, loitered about the bridge as if on his own s.h.i.+p. In due time Harrigan drew near, the suds swis.h.i.+ng under his brush. The Irishman, remembering suddenly, commenced to hum a tune.
”The old grind, eh, Harrigan?” said McTee.
The Irishman, humming idly still, looked up, calmly surveyed the captain, and then went on as if he had heard merely empty wind instead of words.
”After the scrubbing brush the shovel,” went on McTee, but still Harrigan paid no attention. He rose when his task was completed and made his eyes gentle as if with pity while he gazed upon McTee.
”I'm sorry for you, McTee; you've made a hard fight; it's strange you've got no ghost of a chance of winnin'.”
”What d'you mean?”
”Couldn't you hear her when she talked to me?”
”I could not.”