As a rule, sailors are glad to curry favor with the bos'n.

Harrigan, however, sat without speaking, staring through the gloom.
"Well ?" said Hovey at length.

"You're a silent man, Harrigan." There was no response.
"All right; I like a silent man.

In a way of speakin', I need 'em like you! If you say little to me, you're likely to say little to others.
"I don't talk much myself," went on Hovey, "until I know my man.

I ain't seen much of you, but I guess I figure you straight." He grew suddenly cautious, cunning, and the steady, gray-blue eyes reminded Harrigan of a cat when she crouches for hours watching the rathole.
"You ain't got much reason for standing in with White Henshaw ?" he purred.
"H'm," grunted the Irishman, and waited.
"Sure, you ain't," went on Hovey soothingly, "because McTee has raised hell between you.