“First the rain,” shouted Mr. Temple, who by clutching the table had maintained his equilibrium, “and now the wind. That’s all.”
The door of the companionway was thrust back rudely, admitting a cascade of water that washed across the floor and the reeling form of Matt Murphy. His head hung low and there was that in his attitude which told Frank, the most sensitive of the boys, that he was in trouble. Frank sprang to his assistance.
“Good boy,” said Murphy, thickly. “Shut the door or the whole Pacific Ocean will be in here.”
Frank slammed the watertight door and then turned to Murphy. His companions also had gathered around. Murphy grasped the table with his left hand. The right arm hung useless.
“Me arm’s broke I guess,” he said. “Git that doctor out o’ the Big Boss’s room. Calls himself a doctor, anyhow.”
Frank hastened to pound on the door of “Black George’s” cabin. At first there was no answer. Then a weak voice began to curse, the sounds barely audible to Frank above the roar of the storm.
He was uncertain what to do and turned to appeal to Murphy. The latter, reeling and clutching the table, interpreted his action aright.
On a tumbled berth lay the form of “Black George,” with head bandaged, recumbent, relaxed, breathing heavily. In a corner on the floor, as if tossed there by the action of the ship, half lay, half crouched a little fat man with gray hair and ragged gray mustache. As Frank opened the door he looked up, through bleared eyes, ceased mumbling and stared in fright.
“Don’t take me, Mr. Devil. Please don’t take me,” he pleaded piteously.
Frank was thrust aside by Matt Murphy, who had come to investigate. Despite his broken arm, which must have been giving him great pain, the latter advanced to the cowering form in the corner.
“Why, you’re not even drunk,” he said, after a moment’s scrutiny. “I believe you’re just scared. Come. Out wit’ ye.”
Seizing the other’s collar with his sound arm Murphy started to drag him into the salon. It was the boy’s first sight of the man taking care of “Black George.” Since they had come aboard he had not left the cabin to their knowledge. Chinese servants had taken his food to him. For that matter, they had seen nobody in authority except Matt Murphy. First mate? Second mate? Engineer? If the vessel owned them, at least they had not been seen.