Charles Beadle

“ Vi obeyed and and listened uneasily to the footsteps of her uncle walking slowly around the bridge. Twice she heard him call softly. Nothing save the lame thump of the engines and the sough of the wind and sea answered.
“Can't make it out, Vi,” he commented on his return. “Haven't heard the voice again, have you?”
“Not a note. I suppose it must have been Mr. Selwyn. Anyway let us leave it till daylight, uncle.”
“I suppose so. Can't spare any men to hunt a drunken fool anyway. Go and turn in again, dear.”
“All right,” answered Vi after a moment's hesitation. “Good night, uncle.” ”

“ After a hurried sluice in the chartroom basin by way of toilet Vi mounted the bridge to relieve her uncle.
“No news, uncle?”
“None, dear. We must be well out of the ordinary lane by now. Anyway I'll take the sun at noon.”
Save for the pageant of the dawn before the sun burned the colors out of the sky the sea was just the same foam-flecked mass as ever. Soon from beneath her she heard the steady snore of the captain, who was enjoying the first sleep he really had had since the Hesperus catastrophe. The monsoon weather is always warm and sticky. ”

“ Without a word he turned and walked to the other end of the bridge and, leaning over the dodger, fell to gazing at the sea with his eyes averted.
“Oh, Heavens!” grumbled Vi to herself. “Why on earth are men so incorrigibly sentimental? I suppose next thing is that awful Selwyn creature will turn up and begin to bore me again! ... Well, it's about eleven-thirty, so I suppose I'd better call uncle if he wants to take the sun.”
“Mr. Carnell!” she called. “Would you mind taking the wheel a moment while I call uncle? He wants to take the sun.” ”