Never before had he watched his fellows so closely. But the lad turned to the rack where rolled flags waited in their pigeon-holes to cue any fate that might come, and went out to his duty. There came another smear of bunting for them on the liner—too late; the light was not good enough. But a star began to wink at her bridge, and they all watched it till it ceased. Lycett returned to them. “He says he will report us, sir.” The master nodded. “Of course.” That was ended. Nobody spoke. The seaman at the useless wheel was aloof. He had no part in this. He appeared not to have heard anything, not to be interested in what was passing. He was merely waiting for the wheel to show a better spirit, and he could wait for ever. He did not even turn his head to look at the departing liner. Only Lycett did that. The master had his hands spread on a desk, and was considering, so it appeared, a diagram before him. He had dismissed the liner. He had forgotten her already? And there she went.
