4/18 It was in the cabin that Captain West and I lolled in big leather chairs while Mr.Pike ran the phonograph. His face was in a blaze of light from the swinging lamps, and every shade of expression was visible to me. His records were only of the best, and the care he took of them was a revelation. He handled each one reverently, as a sacred thing, untying and unwrapping it and brushing it with a fine camel's hair brush while it revolved and ere he placed the needle on it. For a time all I could see was the huge brute hands of a brute-driver, with skin off the knuckles, that expressed love in their every movement. |