"Having disposed of those gents as you suggested—" he began.
"No, no!" the Bishop hastened to disclaim, "I suggested nothing."
"Well," said the seaman, "we've fixed 'em, anyway. And now we're heading for the nearest port, which the same's Weymouth, and we hopes you'll overlook what's gone before, and come on deck and take command of this yacht."
"I will certainly come on deck," replied the Bishop. "But as to assuming command of the ship, I hardly feel qualified. Is there not some one among you—?"
"I'm bo'sn, please your honour," volunteered the speaker.
"Ah," said the Bishop blandly, "then I appoint you." And as the men fell back, he escorted Miss Arminster upstairs.
As they appeared on deck, a striking scene met their eyes. Three wretched figures were triced up to the mainmast. They had only such remnants of clothes remaining on their persons as decency demanded, and they had all evidently made a recent acquaintance with the ship's tar-barrel and slush-bucket.
As his Lordship and Miss Arminster appeared, the crew approached, expecting a speech.
"I hardly know what to say," began the Bishop to Violet.
"Let me speak to them, will you?" she asked, her eyes sparkling. "I understand human nature pretty well. I have to, in my profession."