Even Percy Darrow saw the surliness of the men's attitudes, and with his usual good sense divined the cause.
"You chaps are getting lazy," said he, "why don't you do something? Where's the captain?"
They growled something about there being nothing to do, and explained that the captain preferred to live aboard.
"Don't blame him," said Darrow, "but he might give us a little of his squeaky company occasionally. Boys, I'll tell you something about seals. The old bull seals have long, stiff whiskers—a foot long. Do you know there's a market for those whiskers? Well, there is. The Chinese mount them in gold and use them for cleaners for their long pipes. Each whisker is worth from six bits to a dollar and a quarter. Why don't you kill a few bull seal for the 'trimmings'?"
"Nothin' to do with a voodoo?" grunted Handy Solomon.
Darrow laughed amusedly. "No, this is the truth," he assured. "I'll tell you what: I'll give you boys six bits apiece for the whisker hairs, and four bits for the galls. I expect to sell them at a profit."
Next morning they shook off their lethargy and went seal-hunting.
I was practically commanded to attend. This attitude had been growing of late: now it began to take a definite form.
"Mr. Eagan, don't you want to go hunting?" or "Mr. Eagen, I guess I'll just go along with you to stretch my legs," had given way to, "We're going fishing: you'd better come along."
