Part 4 (1/2)
”Work.”
”Do you mean to say they make you work with your hands in this condition?”
”Sure.”
”Poor fellow! That black captain!”
Her voice had changed from a peculiarly soft, low accent to a shrill tone that made Harrigan start.
”Poor fellow!” she repeated. ”Sit down.”
The campstool creaked under the burden of his weight. She pulled up the chair in front of him and placed his left hand on her knees.
”This is peroxide. Tell me if it hurts too much.”
She spilled some of the liquid across his palm; it frothed.
”Ouch!” grunted Harrigan involuntarily.
She caught his wrists with both hands.
”Why, your whole arm is trembling! You must be in torture with this.
Have you made any complaint?”
”No.”
She studied him for a moment, scenting a mystery somewhere and guessing that he would not speak of it. And she asked no questions. She said not a word and merely bowed her head and started to apply the salve with delicate touches. For the result, a confession of all his troubles tumbled up the big man's throat to his tongue. He had to set his teeth to keep it back.
She became aware of those cold, incurious eyes studying her face as she wrapped the gauze bandage deftly around the injured palms.
”Why do you watch me so closely?”
It disarmed him. Those possibilities of tenderness came about his stiff-set lips, and the girl wondered.
”I was thinkin' about my home town.”
”Where is it?”
He frowned and waved his hand in a sweep which included half the points on the compa.s.s.
”Back there.”
She waited, wrapping up the gauze bandage.
”When I was a kid, I used to go down to the harbor an' watch the s.h.i.+ps comin' in an' goin' out,” he went on cautiously.
She nodded, and he resumed with more confidence: ”I'd sit on the pierhead an' watch the s.h.i.+ps. I knew they was bringing the smell of far lands in their holds.”
There was a little pause; then his head tilted back and he burst into the soft, thick brogue: ”Ah-h, I was afther bein' woild about the schooners blowin' out to sea wid their sails shook out like clouds. An'