“And you believe that?” said Harvey, remembering what Tom Platt had said about candles and models. “Haven’t we all got to take what’s served?”
A mutter of dissent ran round the bunks.
“Outboard, yes; inboard, things can happen,” said Disko. “Don’t you go makin’ a mock of Jonahs, young feller.”
“Well, Harve ain’t no Jonah. Day after we catched him,” Dan cut in, “we had a toppin’ good catch.”
The cook threw up his head and laughed suddenly—a queer, thin laugh. He was a most disconcerting nigger.
“Murder!” said Long Jack. “Don’t do that again, doctor. We ain’t used to ut.”
“What’s wrong?” said Dan. “Ain’t he our mascot, and didn’t they strike on good after we’d struck him?”
“Oh! yess,” said the cook. “I know that, but the catch iss not finish yet.”
“He ain’t goin’ to do us any harm,” said Dan, hotly. “Where are ye hintin’ an’ edgin’ to? He’s all right.”
“No harm. No. But one day he will be your master, Danny.”
“That all?” said Dan, placidly. “He wun’t—not by a jugful.”
“Master!” said the cook, pointing to Harvey. “Man!” and he pointed to Dan.
“That’s news. Haow soon?” said Dan, with a laugh.
“In some years, and I shall see it. Master and man—man and master.”