He was having good times now; for his boss, George Ealer, was as kindhearted as Brown wasn't.

Ritchie had steeled for Brown the season before; consequently he knew exactly how to entertain himself and plague me, all by the one operation.
Whenever I took the wheel for a moment on Ealer's watch, Ritchie would sit back on the bench and play Brown, with continual ejaculations of 'Snatch her! snatch her! Derndest mud-cat I ever saw!' 'Here! Where you going NOW?
Going to run over that snag ?' 'Pull her DOWN! Don't you hear me?
Pull her DOWN!' 'There she goes! JUST as I expected! I TOLD you not to cramp that reef.

G'way from the wheel!' So I always had a rough time of it, no matter whose watch it was; and sometimes it seemed to me that Ritchie's good-natured badgering was pretty nearly as aggravating as Brown's dead-earnest nagging.
I often wanted to kill Brown, but this would not answer.

A cub had to take everything his boss gave, in the way of vigorous comment and criticism; and we all believed that there was a United States law making it a penitentiary offense to strike or threaten a pilot who was on duty.
However, I could IMAGINE myself killing Brown; there was no law against that; and that was the thing I used always to do the moment I was abed.

Instead of going over my river in my mind as was my duty, I threw business aside for pleasure, and killed Brown.