But nothing I could do seemed to relieve him.

At my suggestion, however, he gave up smoking and drinking; though why such a magnificent animal as he should have headaches at all puzzles me.
"'Tis the hand of God, I'm tellin' you," is the way Louis sees it.

"'Tis a visitation for his black-hearted deeds, and there's more behind and comin', or else--" "Or else," I prompted.
"God is noddin' and not doin' his duty, though it's me as shouldn't say it." I was mistaken when I said that I was in the good graces of all.

Not only does Thomas Mugridge continue to hate me, but he has discovered a new reason for hating me.

It took me no little while to puzzle it out, but I finally discovered that it was because I was more luckily born than he--"gentleman born," he put it.
"And still no more dead men," I twitted Louis, when Smoke and Henderson, side by side, in friendly conversation, took their first exercise on deck.
Louis surveyed me with his shrewd grey eyes, and shook his head portentously.