(Takes a revolver from the pocket of his coat and examines it.)

Got yourn?

MATE.  Yes, sir.

KEENEY.  Not that we’ll have to use ’em—­not if I know their breed of dog—­jest to frighten ’em up a bit. (Grimly) I ain’t never been forced to use one yit; and trouble I’ve had by land and by sea’s long as I kin remember, and will have till my dyin’ day, I reckon.

MATE (hesitatingly).  Then you ain’t goin’—­to turn back?

KEENEY.  Turn back!  Mr. Slocum, did you ever hear o’ me pointin’ s’uth for home with only a measly four hundred barrel of ile in the hold?

MATE (hastily).  No, sir—­but the grub’s gittin’ low.

KEENEY.  They’s enough to last a long time yit, if they’re careful with it; and they’s plenty o’ water.

MATE.  They say it’s not fit to eat—­what’s left; and the two years they signed on fur is up to-day.  They might make trouble for you in the courts when we git home.

KEENEY.  To hell with ’em!  Let them make what law trouble they kin.  I don’t give a damn ’bout the money.  I’ve got to git the ile! (Glancing sharply at the MATE) You ain’t turnin’ no damned sea lawyer, be you, Mr. Slocum?

MATE (flushing).  Not by a hell of a sight, sir.

KEENEY.  What do the fools want to go home fur now?  Their share o’ the four hundred barrel wouldn’t keep ’em in chewin’ terbacco.

MATE (slowly).  They wants to git back to their folks an’ things, I s’pose.

KEENEY (looking at him searchingly).  ‘N’ you want to turn back, too. (THE MATE looks down confusedly before his sharp gaze.) Don’t lie, Mr. Slocum.  It’s writ down plain in your eyes. (With grim sarcasm) I hope, Mr. Slocum, you ain’t agoin’ to jine the men agin me.

MATE (indignantly).  That ain’t fair, sir, to say sich things.

KEENEY (with satisfaction).  I warn’t much afeard o’ that, Tom.  You been with me nigh on ten year and I’ve learned ye whalin’.  No man kin say I ain’t a good master, if I be a hard one.

MATE.  I warn’t thinkin’ of myself, sir—­’bout turnin’ home, I mean. (Desperately) But Mrs. Keeney, sir—­seems like she ain’t jest satisfied up here, ailin’ like—­what with the cold an’ bad luck an’ the ice an’ all.

KEENEY (his face clouding—­rebukingly but not severely).  That’s my business, Mr. Slocum.  I’ll thank you to steer a clear course o’ that. (A pause.) The ice’ll break up soon to no’th’rd.  I could see it startin’ to-day.  And when it goes and we git some sun, Annie’ll perk up. (Another pause—­then he bursts forth) It ain’t the damned money what’s keepin’ me up in the Northern seas, Tom.  But I can’t go back to Homeport with a measly four hundred barrel of ile.  I’d die fust.  I ain’t never come back home in all my days without a full ship.  Ain’t that truth?

MATE.  Yes, sir; but this voyage you been ice-bound, an’—­