Presently he shouted-- 'Put down that shovel! Deadest numskull I ever saw--ain't even got sense enough to load up a stove.' All through the watch this sort of thing went on.

Yes, and the subsequent watches were much like it, during a stretch of months.

As I have said, I soon got the habit of coming on duty with dread.

The moment I was in the presence, even in the darkest night, I could feel those yellow eyes upon me, and knew their owner was watching for a pretext to spit out some venom on me.

Preliminarily he would say-- 'Here! Take the wheel.' Two minutes later-- 'WHERE in the nation you going to?
Pull her down! pull her down!' After another moment-- 'Say! You going to hold her all day?
Let her go--meet her! meet her!' Then he would jump from the bench, snatch the wheel from me, and meet her himself, pouring out wrath upon me all the time.
George Ritchie was the other pilot's cub.