"Well?"--sullenly.
"I'm going around after you, and if I find so much as a pint, I'll
put you in that room you have just left, and lock you in."
He turned even grayer, and went into the storeroom.
A day later, and the crew would probably have resented what they
saw that morning. But that day they only looked up apathetically
from their gruesome work of sewing into bags of canvas the sheeted
bodies on the deck, while a gray-faced Negro in a white coat flung
over the rail cases of fine wines, baskets and boxes full of
bottles, dozen after dozen of brandies and liquors, all sinking
beyond salvage in the blue Atlantic.