Page:Cruise of the Dry Dock.djvu/223

 seemed to emanate from the air above his head. He stood quite still, hands on rail, listening. It was repeated. It was a human noise. It seemed to come from the vacant bronze-colored sky above his head. He wondered if he were going insane? Just then he caught sight of Caradoc's torso thrust out from a barrel up in the shrouding of the foremast. The crew of the Vulcan had run up the barrel like a whaler's lookout to post a watch. Into this barrel Caradoc had climbed.

The face of Smith wore a strained, desperate look. Madden stared at him for several seconds, quite taken aback by finding him in such an unexpected place. One thing, however, filled the American with deep gratification. The man was not drunk.

“What you doing up there?” called Madden in surprise.

Caradoc's broad shoulders sagged drearily. “I don't know,” he said dully. “I fancy I might as well jump overboard and be done with it.”

Madden became instantly alert. “Jump overboard! What for?” A sudden thought hit