and some of the others were watching them sharply) Mr. Thomas and Roger Hamlin were leaning side by side upon the rail, and forward the men were gathering in groups. It was indeed an ominous message that the brig had given us. But supper broke the tension, and afterwards a more cheerful atmosphere prevailed.
As I was sweeping down the deck next day, Roger, to my great surprise—for by now I was accustomed to his amused silence—came and spoke to me with something of the old, humorous freedom that was so characteristic of him.
"Well, Bennie," said he, "we're quite a man now, are we not?"
"We are," I replied shortly. Although I would not for a great deal have given him the satisfaction of knowing it, I had been much vexed, secretly, by his rigidly ignoring me.
"Bennie," he said in a low voice, "is there trouble brewing in the forecastle?"
I was startled. "Why, no. I've seen no sign of trouble."
"No one has talked to you, then?"
"Not in such a way as you imply."
"Hm! Keep your eyes and ears open, anyway, and if you hear anything that sounds like trouble, let me know—quietly, mind you, even secretly."
"What do you mean?"
"We are carrying a valuable cargo, and we have very particular orders. All must be thus and so—exactly thus and so—and it means more to the owners, Bennie, than I think you realize. Now you go on with your work. But remember—eyes and ears open."
That night, as I watched the restless sea and the silent stars, my imagination was stirred as never before. I felt the mystery and wonder of great distances and far places. We were so utterly alone! Except for the passing hail of some stranger, we had cut ourselves off for months from all communication with the larger world. Whatever happened aboard ship, in whatever straits we found ourselves, we must depend solely upon our own resources; and already it appeared that some of our shipmates were scheming and intriguing against one another. Thus I meditated, until the boyish and more natural, perhaps more wholesome, thought of the cook's promise came to me.
Pie! My remembrance of pie was almost as intangible as a pleasant dream might be some two days later. With care to escape observation, I made my way to the galley and knocked cautiously.
"Who's dah?" asked softly the old cook, who had barricaded himself for the night according to his custom, and was smoking a villainously rank pipe.
"It's Ben Lathrop," I whispered.
"What you want heah?" the cook demanded.
"The pie you promised me," I answered.
"Humph! Ain't you fo'got dat pie yet? You got de most miraculous memorizer eveh Ah heared of. You wait."
I heard him fumbling inside the galley; then he opened the door and stepped out on deck as if he had just decided to take a breath of fresh air. Upon seeing me, he pretended to start with great surprise, and exclaimed rather more loudly than before:—
"What you doin' heah, boy, at dis yeh hour o' night?"
But all this was only crafty by-play. Having made sure, so he thought, that no one was in sight, he grabbed me by the collar and yanked me into the galley, at the same time shutting the door so that I almost stifled in the rank smoke with which he had filled the place.
Scowling fiercely, he reached into a little cupboard and drew out half an apple pie that to my eager eyes seemed as big as a half moon on a clear night.
"Dah," he said. "Eat it up. Mistah Falk, he tell stew'd he want pie and he gotta have pie, and stew'd he come and he say, 'Frank,' says he, 'dat Mistah Falk, his langwidge is like he is in liquo'. He gotta have pie.' 'All right,' Ah say, 'if he gotta have pie, he gotta wait twill Ah make pie. Cap'n, he et hearty o' pie lately.' Stew'd he say, 'Cap'n ain't had but one piece and Mistah Thomas, he ain't had but one piece, and Mistah Hamlin, he ain't had any. Dah's gotta be pie. You done et dat pie yo'se'f,' says he. 'Oh, no,' says Ah. 'Ah never et no pie. You fo'get 'bout dat pie you give Cap'n foh breakfas'.' Den stew'd he done crawl out. He don' know Ah make two pies yestidday. Dat's how come Ah have pie foh de boy. Boys dey need pie to make 'em grow. It's won'erful foh de indignation, pie is."
I was appalled by the hue and cry that my half-circle of pastry had occasioned, and more than a little fearful of the consequences if the truth ever should transpire; but the pie in hand was compensation for many such intangible difficulties in the future, and I was making great inroads on a wedge of it, when I thought I heard a sound outside the window, which the cook had masked with a piece of paper.
I stopped to listen and saw that Frank had heard it too. It was a scratchy sound as if some one were trying to unship the glass.
"Massy sake!" my host gasped, taking his vile pipe out of his mouth.
Although it was quite impossible for pallor to make any visible impression on his surpassing blackness, he obviously was much disturbed.
"Gobble dat pie, boy," he gasped, "gobble up ev'y crumb an' splinter."
Now, as the scratchy noise sounded at the door, the cook laid his pipe on a shelf and glanced up at a big carving-knife that hung from a rack above his head.
"Who's dah?" he demanded cautiously.
"Lemme in," said a mild, low voice, "I want some o' that pie."
"Massy sake!" the cook gasped in disgust, "ef it ain't dat no 'count
Kipping."
"Lemme in," persisted the mild, plaintive voice. "Lemme in."
"Aw, go 'long! Dah ain't no pie in heah," the cook retorted. "You's dreamin', dat's what you is. You needs a good dose of medicine, dat's what you needs."
"I'm dreaming, am I?" the mild voice repeated. "Oh, yes, I'm dreaming I am, ain't I? I didn't sneak around the galley yesterday morning and hear you tell that cocky little fool to come and get a piece of pie tonight. Oh, no! I didn't see him come prowling around when he thought no one was looking. Oh, no! I didn't see you come out of the galley like you didn't know there was anybody on deck, and walk right under the rigging where I was waiting for just such tricks. Oh, no! I was dreaming, I was. Oh, yes."
"Dat Kipping," the cook whispered, "he's hand and foot with Mistah Falk."
"Lemme in, you woolly-headed son of perdition, or I swear I'll take the kinky scalp right off your round old head."
"He's gettin' violenter," the cook whispered, eyeing me questioningly.
Saying nothing, I swallowed the last bit of pie. I had made the most of my opportunity.
Kipping now shook the door and swore angrily. Finally he kicked it with the full weight of his heel.
It rattled on its hinges and a long crack appeared in the lower panel.
"He's sho' coming in," the African said slowly and reflectively. "He's sho' coming in and when he don't get no pie, he's gwine tell Mistah Falk, and you and me's gwine have trouble." Putting his scowling face close to my ear, the cook whispered, "Ah's gwine scare him good."
Amazed by the dramatic turn
