“I have told you to stay aft where you belong.”
“Really, father, I don't understand why—”
“Those are my orders! I understand. You don't need to understand. This world is full of cheap fellows who misinterpret actions.”
Captain Mayo grasped the rails of the bridge ladder and did down to the deck without touching his feet to the treads. He appeared before the father and daughter with startling suddenness.
“Mr. Marston, I am leaving my position on board here as soon as you can get another man to take my place.”
“You are, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You signed papers for the season. It is not convenient for me to make a change.” Marston spoke with the crispness of a man who had settled the matter.
Captain Mayo was conscious that the girl was trying to attract his gaze, but he kept his eyes resolutely from her face.
“I insist on being relieved.”
“I have no patience with childishness in a man! I found it necessary to reprimand you. You'll probably know your place after this.” He turned away.
“I have decided that I do not belong on this yacht,” stated Mayo, with an emphasis he knew the girl would understand. “You must get another master!”
“I cannot pick captains out of this fog, and I allow no man to tell me my own business. I shall keep you to your written agreement. Hold yourself in readiness to carry telegrams ashore for me. I take it there is an office here?”
“There is, sir,” returned Mayo, stiffly.
The girl, departing, bestowed on him a pretty grimace of triumph, plainly rejoicing because his impetuous resignation had been overruled so autocratically. But Mayo gave a somber return to the raillery of her eyes. He had spoken out to Marston as a man, and had been treated with the contemptuous indifference which would be accorded to a bond-servant. He was wounded by the light manner in which she viewed that affront,
Prev.
Back
Top