Sloan wiped his wet forehead and whispered shakily: "I wouldn't mind it so much if he'd curse and rave.
But to sit like that, not making a sound--it ain't natural, Captain McTee." "Hush, you fool," said McTee.

"White Henshaw is alone with his dead.
And it's me that he blames for it.

I brought him the bad luck." Sloan shuddered.
"Then I wouldn't have your name for ten thousand dollars, sir." "If there's bad luck," said McTee solemnly, for every sailor has some superstitious belief, "it's on the entire ship--on every one of the crew as well as on me.

We'll have to pay for this--all of us--and pay high.

We're apt to _feel_ it before long.