"And if this keeps up I'll be in my bunk in about five minutes." She waved aside all sympathy.

"Oh, don't bother about me, Mr.Pathurst.
Sea-sickness is only detestable and horrid, like sleet, and muddy weather, and poison ivy; besides, I'd rather be sea-sick than have the hives." Something went wrong with the men below us on the deck, some stupidity or blunder that was made aware to us by Mr.Mellaire's raised voice.

Like Mr.Pike, he had a way of snarling at the sailors that was distinctly unpleasant to the ear.
On the faces of several of the sailors bruises were in evidence.

One, in particular, had an eye so swollen that it was closed.
"Looks as if he had run against a stanchion in the dark," I observed.
Most eloquent, and most unconscious, was the quick flash of Miss West's eyes to Mr.Pike's big paws, with freshly abraded knuckles, resting on the rail.

It was a stab of hurt to me.