stretching before he crawled into his berth. For half an hour
he talked softly to Tim, for Wrennie's benefit, stating his belief
that Satan, the head boss, had once thrown overboard a Jew much
like Wrennie, and was likely thus to serve Wrennie, too.
Tim pictured the result when, after the capsizing of the steamer
which would undoubtedly occur if this long sickening motion kept up,
Wrennie had to take to a boat with Satan.

The fingers of Wrennie curled into shape for strangling some one.

When Pete was asleep he worried off into thin slumber.

Then, there was Satan, the head boss, jerking him out of his
berth, stirring his cramped joints to another dawn of
drudgery--two hours of work and two of waiting before the daily
eight-o'clock insult called breakfast. He tugged on his shoes,
marveling at Mr. Wrenn's really being there, at his sitting in
cramped stoop on the side of a berth in a dark filthy place that
went up and down like a freight elevator, subject to the orders
of persons whom he did not in the least like.

Through the damp gray sea-air he staggered hungrily along the
gangway to the hatch amidships, and trembled down the iron
ladder to McGarver's crew 'tween-decks.

First, watering the steers. Sickened by walking backward with
pails of water he carried till he could see and think of nothing
in the world save the water-butt, the puddle in front of it, and
the cattlemen mercilessly dipping out pails there, through
centuries that would never end. How those steers did drink!