Jack London

The Sea-Wolf Jack London

Wolf Larsen ceased swearing as suddenly as he had begun. He relighted his cigar and glancedaround. His eyes chanced upon the cook."Well, Cooky?" he began, with a suaveness that was cold and of the temper of steel."Yes, sir," the cook eagerly interpolated, with appeasing and apologetic servility."Don't you think you've stretched that neck of yours just about enough? It's unhealthy, youknow. The mate's gone, so I can't afford to lose you too. You must be very, very careful of yourhealth, Cooky. Understand?"His last word, in striking contrast with the smoothness of his previous utterance, snapped like thelash of a whip. The cook quailed under it."Yes, sir," was the meek reply, as the offending head disappeared into the galley. At this sweeping rebuke, which the cook had only pointed, the rest of the crew became uninterestedand fell to work at one task or another. A number of men, however, who were lounging about acompanion-way between the galley and hatch, and who did not seem to be sailors, continued talkingin low tones with one another. These, I afterward learned, were the hunters, the men who shot theseals, and a very superior breed to common sailor-folk."Johansen!" Wolf Larsen called out. A sailor stepped forward obediently. "Get your palm andneedle and sew the beggar up. You'll find some old canvas in the sail-locker. Make it do.""What'll I put on his feet, sir?" the man asked, after the customary "Ay, ay, sir.""We'll see to that," Wolf Larsen answered, and elevated his voice in a call of "Cooky!"Thomas Mugridge popped out of his galley like a jack-in-the-box."Go below and fill a sack with coal."