Rich Man's Coffin Read Online Free PDF Page A

the large map in Arthur's outstretched arms.   Although he could not read, Arthur had become familiar with world geography. He could readily identify all the continents and oceans on the globe.   He found nautical symbols easy to learn as well, along with some of the simpler math that sailing required.   Everything about seamanship came naturally to Arthur, he thought, as he sat surreptitiously in the seat of his ship's superior officer. He fantasized about one day becoming a great sea captain himself.   Perhaps when he returned from whaling, he thought, he and Lalani could purchase a boat of their own.
              Arthur's musing was interrupted by the clamor of a commotion occurring on the pier.   He stepped to the portside porthole above the Captain's bunk and peered out.   Coming across the gangway in a hail of hysteria and flamboyance was a tall, raven-haired woman in a frilly red dress.   Even though she looked like one of the carnival dancers, she was alone.   Her clothes were Spanish, and along with her brown complexion, she appeared to be as well.   As she stormed across the gangway to the surprise and dismay of the watch, one of her heels stuck in the boards, causing the shoe to come off.   Infuriated, she wheeled around to retrieve it, but she was foiled by the fault of her own fashion: The folds of her skirt hung too far, obscuring her feet. She whipped around in frenzied circles screaming and cursing, finally abandoning her efforts and blasting past the sentry.   The topside guard, recognizing her as the Captain's wife, let her pass by.
              As she crossed the deck, she disappeared from Arthur's view.   He quickly resumed readying the Captain's chamber, in case the visitor was an acquaintance sent ahead to spring a surprise inspection.   Arthur heard her irate, irregular clumping, as the mysterious woman lumbered unishod across the upper deck.   He heard the clunking shift, as she stumbled down the mid-ship ladder.   Her faltering gait sounded like a renegade with a peg leg escaping some hollow gallows stage.   She burst through the Captain's cabin door and stood over Arthur at the desk, breathless. She stammered, "High yam Senora Stewhart.   Who are hugh ?"
              Poised in the Captain’s high, rigid chair, he said, "I am Arthur."
              "Lieutenant Arthur.   I have not heard of you .   But that is typical.   My husband did not mention that he had a Moroccan officer under his command.   Pleasure to meet you."   She lurched forward and put out a dainty, quivering hand.
              Arthur stood up and shook it handily.   He said, "A pleasure."
              She broke down and slumped onto the Captain's bunk, sitting and staring at nothing with glassy eyes.   With a heavy Spanish accent, she began to speak, "Well I am here because the good Captain would rather spend the evening drinking rum with his crew than be with me.   His last night in port, and he is acting like a little boy!   Can you believe it?   You men are all the same."
              Arthur sat fiddling with stacks of maps and nautical instruments at the Captain's desk.   He took advantage of her pause, and said, "Yes ma'am."
              She studied him with far away eyes. She said, "You are nice.   Why are you not enjoying yourself?"
              Arthur, putting on his best airs, said, "The ship gets underway tomorrow.   I am sorting the Captain's charts, Mrs. Stewart."
              Senora Stewart said, "Please, call me Monica."   A curious smile floated on her face. She held out a small, delicately wrapped package, roughly the size of a pen box, and laid it on the Captain’s desk. “He was not here to receive his gift. So, you may have it instead.”
              Arthur, keeping his eye on his work, replied, "All right."
              Monica, jumping up suddenly, sprang across the cabin and began rifling through