He stopped, the air came moist, Si did not speak; The Dauber turned his eyes to where he sat, Pressing the sail-room hinges with his cheek, His face half covered with a drooping hat. Huge dewdrops from the stay-sails dropped and spat. Si did not stir, the Dauber touched his sleeve; A little birdlike noise came from a sheave. Si was asleep, sleeping a calm deep sleep, Still as a warden of the Egyptian dead In some old haunted temple buried deep Under the desert sand, sterile and red. The Dauber shook his arm; Si jumped and said, "Good yarn, I swear! I say, you have a brain-- Was that eight bells that went?" He slept again. Then waking up, "I've had a nap," he cried. "Was that one bell? What, Dauber, you still here?" "Si there?" the Mate's voice called. "Sir," he replied. The order made the lad's thick vision clear; A something in the Mate's voice made him fear. "Si," said the Mate, "I hear you've made a friend-- Dauber, in short. That friendship's got to end. "You're a young gentleman. Your place aboard Is with the gentlemen abaft the mast. You're learning to command; you can't afford To yarn with any man. But there ... it's past. You've done it once; let this time be the last. The Dauber's place is forward. Do it again, I'll put you bunking forward with the men. "Dismiss." Si went, but Sam, beside the Mate, Timekeeper there, walked with him to the rail And whispered him the menace of "You wait"-- Words which have turned full many a reefer pale. The watch was changed; the watch on deck trimmed sail. Sam, going below, called all the reefers down, Sat in his bunk and eyed them with a frown. "Si here," he said, "has soiled the half-deck's name Talking to Dauber--Dauber, the ship's clout. A reefer takes the Dauber for a flame, The half-deck take the round-house walking out. He's soiled the half-deck's honour; now, no doubt, The Bosun and his mates will come here sneaking, Asking for smokes, or blocking gangways speaking. "I'm not a vain man, given to blow or boast; I'm not a proud man, but I truly feel That while I've bossed this mess and ruled this roast I've kept this hooker's half-deck damned genteel. Si must ask pardon, or be made to squeal. Down on your knees, dog; them we love we chasten. Jao, pasea, my son--in English, Hasten." Si begged for pardon, meekly kneeling down Before the reefer's mess assembled grim. The lamp above them smoked the glass all brown; Beyond the door the dripping sails were dim. The Dauber passed the door; none spoke to him. He sought his berth and slept, or, waking, heard Rain on the deck-house--rain, no other word. IV