Beta Book

Through the damp gray sea-air he staggered hungrily along the
gangway to the hatch amidships, and trembled down the iron
ladder to McGarver's crew 'tween-decks.
First, watering the steers. Sickened by walking backward with
pails of water he carried till he could see and think of nothing
in the world save the water-butt, the puddle in front of it, and
the cattlemen mercilessly dipping out pails there, through
centuries that would never end. How those steers did drink!
McGarver's favorite bull, which he called "the Grenadier," took
ten pails and still persisted in leering with dripping gray
mouth beyond the headboard, trying to reach more. As Wrennie
was carrying a pail to the heifers beyond, the Grenadier's horn
caught and tore his overalls. The boat lurched. The pail
whirled out of his hand. He grasped an iron stanchion and
kicked the Grenadier in the jaw till the steer backed off, a
reformed character.
McGarver cheered, for such kicks were a rule of the game.
"Good work," ironically remarked Tim, the weakling hatter.


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