When, in half an hour, Van Horn’s sweat culminated¹ in profusion², it marked the breaking of the malarial³ attack.  Great physical relief was his, and the last mists of delirium⁴ ebbed⁵ from his brain.  But he was left limply weak, and, after tossing off the blankets and recognizing Jerry, he fell into a refreshing⁶ natural sleep.  
Not till two hours later did he awake and start to go on deck.  Half-way up the companion, he deposited Jerry on deck and went back to the stateroom for a forgotten bottle of quinine.  But he did not immediately return to Jerry.  The long drawer under Borckman’s bunk⁸ caught his eye.  The wooden button that held it shut was gone, and it was far out and hanging at an angle that jammed it and prevented it from falling to the floor.  The matter was serious.  There was little doubt in his mind, had the drawer, in the midst of the squall of the previous night, fallen to the floor, that no Arangi and no soul of the eighty souls on board would have been left.  For the drawer was filled with a heterogeneous⁹ mess of dynamite¹⁰ sticks, boxes of fulminating caps, coils of fuses, lead sinkers, iron tools, and many boxes of rifle, revolver and pistol cartridges¹¹.  He sorted and arranged the varied¹² contents, and with a screwdriver¹³ and a longer screw reattached the button.
 
In the meantime, Jerry was encountering new adventure not of the pleasantest.  While waiting for Skipper to return, Jerry chanced to see the wild-dog brazenly¹⁴ lying on deck a dozen feet from his lair¹⁵ in the trade-boxes.  Instantly stiffly crouching¹⁶, Jerry began to stalk.  Success seemed assured, for the wild-dog, with closed eyes, was apparently¹⁷ asleep.
 
And at this moment the mate, two-legging it along the deck from for’ard in the direction of the bottle stored between the yam sacks, called, “Jerry,” in a remarkably¹⁸ husky voice.  Jerry flattened¹⁹ his filbert-shaped ears and wagged his tail in acknowledgment, but advertised his intention of continuing to stalk his enemy.  And at sound of the mate’s voice the wild-dog flung quick-opened eyes in Jerry’s direction and flashed into his burrow²⁰, where he immediately turned around, thrust his head out with a show of teeth, and snarled²¹ triumphant²² defiance²³.
 
Baulked of his quarry²⁴ by the inconsiderateness of the mate, Jerry trotted²⁵ back to the head of the companion to wait for Skipper.  But Borckman, whose brain was well a-crawl by virtue²⁶ of the many nips, clung to a petty idea after the fashion of drunken men.  Twice again, imperatively²⁷, he called Jerry to him, and twice again, with flattened ears of gentleness and wagging tail, Jerry good-naturedly expressed his disinclination.  Next, he yearned²⁸ his head over the coming and into the cabin after Skipper.
 
Borckman remembered his first idea and continued to the bottle, which he generously inverted²⁹ skyward.  But the second idea, petty as it was, persisted; and, after swaying and mumbling³⁰ to himself for a time, after unseeingly making believe to study the crisp fresh breeze that filled the Arangi’s sails and slanted³¹ her deck, and, after sillily attempting on the helmsman to portray³³ eagle-like vigilance in his drink-swimming eyes, he lurched amidships toward Jerry.
 
Jerry’s first intimation of Borckman’s arrival was a cruel and painful clutch on his flank and groin that made him cry out in pain and whirl around.  Next, as the mate had seen Skipper do in play, Jerry had his jowls seized in a tooth-clattering shake that was absolutely different from the Skipper’s rough love-shake.  His head and body were shaken, his teeth clattered³⁴ painfully, and with the roughest of roughness he was flung part way down the slippery slope of deck.
 
Now Jerry was a gentleman.  All the soul of courtesy was in him, for equals and superiors.  After all, even in an inferior like the wild-dog, he did not consciously press an advantage very far—never extremely far.  In his stalking and rushing of the wild-dog, he had been more sound and fury than an overbearing bully³⁵.  But with a superior, with a two-legged white-god like Borckman, there was more a demand upon his control, restraint, and inhibition of primitive³⁶ promptings.  He did not want to play with the mate a game that he ecstatically played with Skipper, because he had experienced no similar liking³⁷ for the mate, two-legged white-god that he was.
 
And still Jerry was all gentleness.  He came back in a feeble imitation rush of the whole-hearted rush that he had learned to make on Skipper.  He was, in truth, acting³⁸, play-acting, attempting to do what he had no heart-prompting to do.  He made believe to play, and uttered simulated growls³⁹ that failed of the verity⁴⁰ of simulation.
 
He bobbed his tail good-naturedly and friendly, and growled⁴¹ ferociously⁴² and friendly; but the keenness of the drunkenness of the mate discerned the difference and aroused in him, vaguely⁴³, the intuition of difference, of play-acting, of cheating.  Jerry was cheating—out of his heart of consideration.  Borckman drunkenly recognized the cheating without crediting the heart of good behind it.  On the instant he was antagonistic⁴⁴.  Forgetting that he was only a brute⁴⁵, he posited⁷ that this was no more than a brute with which he strove to play in the

Join or Log In! You need to log in to continue reading

Create a new account   I have a account already

	Create an New Account
Email:  (User Name)
Password:	Letters and numbers only. 6-20 characters.
Retype Password:
Screen Name:	Letters and numbers only. 6-50 Characters.
Confirmation Code:	(Please type in the characters in the green image.)

	Login into Your Account
Email:
Password:
	Remember me on this computer.