being that Nikolas Rokoff was so poor a sailor that the heavy seas
the Kincaid encountered from the very beginning of her voyage sent
the Russian to his berth with a bad attack of sea-sickness.

During this time her only visitor was an uncouth Swede, the Kincaid's
unsavoury cook, who brought her meals to her. His name was Sven
Anderssen, his one pride being that his patronymic was spelt with
a double "s."

The man was tall and raw-boned, with a long yellow moustache, an
unwholesome complexion, and filthy nails. The very sight of him
with one grimy thumb buried deep in the lukewarm stew, that seemed,
from the frequency of its repetition, to constitute the pride of
his culinary art, was sufficient to take away the girl's appetite.

His small, blue, close-set eyes never met hers squarely. There
was a shiftiness of his whole appearance that even found expression
in the cat-like manner of his gait, and to it all a sinister suggestion
was added by the long slim knife that always rested at his waist,
slipped through the greasy cord that supported his soiled apron.
Ostensibly it was but an implement of his calling; but the girl
could never free herself of the conviction that it would require
less provocation to witness it put to other and less harmless uses.

His manner toward her was surly, yet she never failed to meet him
with a pleasant smile and a word of thanks when he brought her
food to her, though more often than not she hurled the bulk of it
through the tiny cabin port the moment that the door closed behind
him.