stench of his sickness. His pannikin and unwashed eating-gear from
the last meal were scattered on the floor: His blankets were wet,
his clothing was wet. In a corner was a heterogeneous mass of soggy,
dirty garments. He lay in the very bunk in which he had brained
O'Sullivan. He had been months in this vile hole. In order to live
he would have to remain months more in it. And while his rat-like
vitality won my admiration, I loathed and detested him in very
nausea.

"Aren't you afraid?" I demanded. "What makes you think you will last
the voyage? Don't you know bets are being made that you won't?"

So interested was he that he seemed to prick up his ears as he raised
on his elbow.

"I suppose you're too scared to tell me about them bets," he sneered.

"Oh, I've bet you'll last," I assured him.

"That means there's others that bet I won't," he rattled on hastily.
"An' that means that there's men aboard the Elsinore right now
financially interested in my taking-off."

At this moment the steward, bound aft from the galley, paused in the
doorway and listened, grinning. As for Charles Davis, the man had
missed his vocation. He should have been a land-lawyer, not a sea-
lawyer.

"Very well, sir," he went on. "I'll have you testify to that in
Seattle, unless you're lying to a helpless sick man, or unless you'll