It’s hard to tell you how those two weeks went by.  I don’t know why, but I felt like hiding in a corner all the time.  I had to come to meals, but I didn’t look at her, though, not once, unless it was by accident.  Fedderson thought I was still ailing and nagged me to death with advice and so on.  One thing I took care not to do, I can tell you, and that was to knock on his door till I’d made certain he wasn’t below in the living-room—­though I was tempted to.

Yes, sir; that’s a queer thing, and I wouldn’t tell you if I hadn’t set out to give you the truth.  Night after night, stopping there on the landing in that black pit, the air gone out of my lungs and the surf drumming in my ears and sweat standing cold on my neck—­and one hand lifting up in the air—­God forgive me, sir!  Maybe I did wrong not to look at her more, drooping about her work in her gingham apron, with her hair stringing.

When the Inspector came off with the tender, that time, I told him I was through.  That’s when he took the dislike to me, I guess, for he looked at me kind of sneering and said, soft as I was, I’d have to put up with it till next relief.  And then, said he, there’d be a whole house-cleaning at Seven Brothers, because he’d gotten Fedderson the berth at Kingdom Come.  And with that he slapped the old man on the back.

I wish you could have seen Fedderson, sir.  He sat down on my cot as if his knees had given ’way.  Happy?  You’d think he’d be happy, with all his dreams come true.  Yes, he was happy, beaming all over—­for a minute.  Then, sir, he began to shrivel up.  It was like seeing a man cut down in his prime before your eyes.  He began to wag his head.

“No,” said he.  “No, no; it’s not for such as me.  I’m good enough for Seven Brothers, and that’s all, Mr. Bayliss.  That’s all.”

And for all the Inspector could say, that’s what he stuck to.  He’d figured himself a martyr so many years, nursed that injustice like a mother with her first-born, sir; and now in his old age, so to speak, they weren’t to rob him of it.  Fedderson was going to wear out his life in a second-class light, and folks would talk—­that was his idea.  I heard him hailing down as the tender was casting off: 

“See you to-morrow, Mr. Bayliss.  Yep.  Coming ashore with the wife for a spree.  Anniversary.  Yep.”

But he didn’t sound much like a spree.  They had, robbed him, partly, after all.  I wondered what she thought about it.  I didn’t know till night.  She didn’t show up to supper, which Fedderson and I got ourselves—­had a headache, be said.  It was my early watch.  I went and lit up and came back to read a spell.  He was finishing off the Jacob’s-ladder, and thoughtful, like a man that’s lost a treasure.  Once or twice I caught him looking about the room on the sly.  It was pathetic, sir.

Going up the second time, I stepped out on the walk-around to have a look at things.  She was there on the seaward side, wrapped in that silky thing.  A fair sea was running across the ledge and it was coming on a little thick—­not too thick.  Off to the right the Boston boat was blowing, whroom-whroom! Creeping up on us, quarter-speed.  There was another fellow behind her, and a fisherman’s conch farther offshore.