Although a cool breeze was blowing on deck, there was little air in number two hold.

In ten minutes Darrin found himself bathed in perspiration.

Dust from barrels and packing cases hung heavy in that confined space.

The grime settled on his perspiring face and stuck there.
"Look out, sir, or you'll get covered with pitch from some of these barrels," Riley warned Dave, respectfully.
"One uniform spoiled is nothing," Dave answered with a smile.
"Do not be concerned about me." Officer and men were suffering alike in that close atmosphere.
By the time the watch was ended Dave Darrin was truly a pitchy, soiled, perspiration-soaked sight.
Danny Grin, who reported to relieve his chum, looked rough and ready enough in a suit of dungarees that he had drawn.
"I should have had brains enough to remember that I, too, could have drawn dungarees," Dave grunted, as he and his chum exchanged salutes.

Then the relieved young officer hastened above to report the completion of his duty to his division commander, who would be furious if kept waiting.
Dave glanced toward Cantor's quarters, then realized that the lieutenant must still be on the quarter deck.
In his haste to be punctual, Darrin forgot his sword and white gloves, which he had left in his own cabin on the way to duty between decks.