Al gazed uncomprehendingly at his companion.
"Listen," continued the sailor. "We can get into the hold and open the sea-cocks."
Al set his teeth and stood rigidly as the ship rolled. The German sailor continued.
"We can open the sea-cocks," he repeated. "The ship'll sink. We can get away. We'll be picked up. Come." He rose to his feet and stood waiting for the cook's decision.
Al pulled himself together with the strength of a sudden determination. He looked at the stiffening body of his brother, then glanced up at the sailor.
"Yes, come," he answered, slowly.
Together they stepped out onto the deserted deck, and the sailor's eyes twinkled with devilish glee at winning the American over.
"This way," said the cook, and he led the sailor forward and down a hatchway. He turned and entered a door. The sailor followed, peering around to see that they were not followed.
The captain looked up from a report he was writing.
"I brought this man around," said the cook, slowly. "But the other,"—his voice broke—"my brother—is dead."
