. . . It'll be sociable, too. . . . Yes,
I'll signal the time to you: but, to be ready for it, you might set
your watch by my chronometer here. . . . I wonder, now,' he inquired
oddly, 'if you've forgot to wind yours up to-night?'
"Well, Roddy, it's the truth that I had forgotten. I looked at him,
pretty foolish, and with that we both laughed--yes, there and then, a
sort of laugh, low and quiet, like well-water bubbling.
"'Now I'll tell _you_,' said the skipper, 'I caught myself winding up
mine the moment after the ship went down . . . that's funny, eh?
Five minutes to nine was the hour. . . . I'd hooked the old timepiece
out of my fob, and there I was, winding, for all the world as if
ashore and going to bed. . . . See here--three turns of the winch and
she's chock-a-block again, if you ever! . . . And, come to think, I
may as well correct _her_ by the chronometer, too.'
"So we solemnly set our watches together, there by the binnacle
light. A queer fancy took me that the act was a sort of ritual, not
devised by either of us--a setting and sealing of friendship.
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