"
"How do you know he expected to get the mate's berth?" I asked.
"It's common talk, my boy. The supercargo's the only man aft he's got any
manner of use for, and cook says the steward says Mr. Hamlin ain't got no
manner of use for him. There you are."
"No," I thought,--though I discreetly said nothing,--"Roger Hamlin is not
the man to be on friendly terms with a fellow of the second mate's
calibre."
And from that time on I watched Mr. Falk, the second mate, and the
mild-voiced Kipping more closely than ever--so closely that one night I
stumbled on a surprising discovery.
Ours was the middle watch, and Mr. Falk as usual was on the quarter-deck.
By moonlight I saw him leaning on the weather rail as haughtily as if he
were the master. His slim, slightly stooped figure, silhouetted against the
moonlit sea, was unmistakable. But the winds were inconstant and drifting
clouds occasionally obscured the moon. Watching, I saw him distinctly;
then, as the moonlight darkened, the after part of the ship became as a
single shadow against a sea almost as black. While I still watched, there
came through a small fissure in the clouds a single moonbeam that swept
from the sea across the quarter-deck and on over the sea again.
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