"Did he so? Did he so?" said Captain Crang. "And—er—could you at the same time call to mind what I answered?"
Mr. Jope looked down modestly. "Well, sir, having my hands full at the time wi' this here little lot, I dunno as I can remember precisely. Was it something about the theayter, Bill?" he demanded, turning to Mr. Adams.
"It wor," answered Mr. Adams sturdily.
"And as how you'd never shipped a crew o' playactors afore, but you'd do your best?"
"Either them very words or to that effect," confirmed Mr. Adams, breathing hard and staring defiantly at the horizon.
"The theatre?… I was at the theatre?" Captain Crang passed a shaking hand over his brow. "No, damme!… and yet I remember now at dinner I heard the Duke say—"
Here it was Captain Crang's turn to stare dumbfounded at an apparition, as a pair of handcuffed wrists thrust themselves up through the main hatchway and were painfully followed by the rest of Mr. Orlando B. Sturge.
"Oh, good Lord! Look! Is the ship full of 'em?" shouted the Captain.
"They ain't real," murmured Mr. Wapshott soothingly. "You'll get accustomed. They began by being frogs," he explained, with the initiatory air of an elder brother, and waved a feeble hand. "Eggs— if you'll 'low me, sir, to conclude—egg-sisting in the 'magination only. Go 'way—shoo!"
But Mr. Sturge was not to be disembodied so easily. On the contrary, as the vessel lurched, he sat down suddenly with a material thud and clash of handcuffs upon the poultry-coop, nor was sooner haled to his feet by the strong arm of Mr. Adams than he struck an attitude and opened on the Captain in his finest baritone.