They avoided each other's eyes. Inside the cabin they heard a faint sound like paper crumpled up. Then they caught a moan from the room--a soft sound such as the wind makes when it hums around the corners of a tall building.
They were silent for a time, listening with painful intentness. Not another murmur came from the cabin. Sloan wiped his wet forehead and whispered shakily: "I wouldn't mind it so much if he'd curse and rave. But to sit like that, not making a sound--it ain't natural, Captain McTee."
"Hush, you fool," said McTee. "White Henshaw is alone with his dead. And it's me that he blames for it. I brought him the bad luck."
Sloan shuddered.
"Then I wouldn't have your name for ten thousand dollars, sir."
"If there's bad luck," said McTee solemnly, for every sailor has some su
