As he shambled to and fro, jerking out from time to
time some necessary orders, he saw that he had the respect of all
these fellows, even while they smiled at him. They felt that this
distorted little framework held a man. He divined this with the
quick sensibility that marks all deformed people. His green eyes
kindled. In the pride of his soul he had almost forgotten Tristram.
The sight of the English coast, dim and purple beneath the declining
sun, brought it back to him with a pang. After all, Tristram was
still lost, and his journey to Holland had been a failure therefore.
With a sudden contempt for all that a moment before he had been
enjoying, he turned to his friend and asked him to take charge for a
while.
Nothing more was said, but Captain Runacles guessed what drove the
little man below like a wounded beast, and began to pace the deck
gloomily.
"He'll never take it up again," he muttered. "It's all very well,
and he thinks he's getting comfort out of it. But it won't do."
He paused for a moment, contemplated the distant coast and resumed
his tread, repeating: "It won't do, Jack; it won't do a bit, my boy."
Captain Barker sat in his cabin alone, staring at a knot of wood on
the table before him.
Pages:
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255