“I’ll think it over,” said Stukeley, evidently not much pleased. “I’ll think it over. I think I’ve listened to enough jaw for one night. I’m going to turn in.” Margaret, quick to save Olivia from something which he thought might annoy her, made a neat parry. “Oh, don’t say that, Stukeley. Come on deck for a blow; then we’ll have a glass of punch apiece.” “Come on,” said Perrin, attempting, with an ill grace, the manner of a jovial schoolboy. “Come on, my son. Catch hold of his other arm, Charles.” As he seized Stukeley’s arm to give him a heave, Stukeley poked him in the wind, and tripped him as he stepped backward. “What’re you sitting down for?” he said, with a rough laugh. Perrin was up in a second. He seized a heavy decanter, and hove it into Stukeley’s face. Stukeley in guarding the blow received a sharp crack upon the elbow. Margaret and Cammock pulled Perrin aside, under a heavy fire of curses. “What d’ye mean by losing your temper? Hey?” said Stukeley. Margaret drew Perrin out of the cabin. “Good night, Stukeley,” he said as he passed the door. He left Cammock standing by his chair, looking into Stukeley’s face. There was a pause for a moment. Then Stukeley began with, “That damned old woman nearly broke my elbow. If he’s a friend of yours----” “He is,” said Cammock. “Oh, so you’re another of them. Well. Lord. You make a queer crew. Do you know that?” Cammock did not answer, but remained standing, like a figure of bronze, staring into Stukeley’s face. For fully a minute he stood there silently. Then he spun round swiftly, in his usual way, giving a little whistle. He paused at the door to stare at Stukeley again. “I’m glad you admire my beauty,” said Stukeley. “You’re not much used to seeing gentlemen, are you?” Still Cammock did not answer. At last he spat through the half-opened gun-port. “My God,” he said. Then he walked out on deck, leaving Stukeley rubbing his elbow; but softly chuckling, thinking he had won the field. V. STUKELEY “Thus can my love excuse the slow offence.” _Sonnet li._ “I can endure All this. Good Gods a blow I can endure. But stay not, lest thou draw a timeless death Upon thyself.” _The Maid’s Tragedy._ One morning, about six weeks later, when the _Broken Heart_ was near her port of call, Captain Margaret sat at the cabin table, with a book of logarithms beside him, a chart before him, and a form for a ship’s day’s work neatly ruled, lying upon the chart. He made a faint pencil-line upon the chart, to show the ship’s position by dead-reckoning. Then, with a pair of compasses, he made a rough measurement of the distance still to run. Stukeley, lying at length upon the locker-top, watched him with contempt.