At last, he sighed profoundly, nerved himself for a great effort, and
making a start away from the rail managed to drag his slippers as far
as the binnacle. There he stopped again, exhausted and bored. From under
the lifted glass panes of the cabin skylight near by came the feeble
chirp of a canary, which appeared to give him some satisfaction. He
listened, smiled faintly muttered "Dicky, poor Dick--" and fell back
into the immense silence of the world. His eyes closed, his head hung
low over the hot brass of the binnacle top. Suddenly he stood up with a
jerk and said sharply in a hoarse voice:
"You've been sleeping--you. Shift the helm. She has got stern way on
her."
The Malay, without the least flinch of feature or pose, as if he had
been an inanimate object called suddenly into life by some hidden magic
of the words, spun the wheel rapidly, letting the spokes pass through
his hands; and when the motion had stopped with a grinding noise, caught
hold again and held on grimly. After a while, however, he turned his
head slowly over his shoulder, glanced at the sea, and said in an
obstinate tone:
"No catch wind--no get way."
"No catch--no catch--that's all you know about it," growled the
red-faced seaman. "By and by catch Ali--" he went on with sudden
condescension.
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