He was peering at me curiously, and presently said, interrogatively, “Well?”
Seeing that I was expected to make some sort of a reply, I said, with a cheerful air—
“’Looks as if the skipper was no end of a scientific pot, I must confess; but, after all, Mr. Martin, it’s a harmless fad enough, isn’t it?”
“Harmless! Well, of all the—— Good heavens, man, you hain’t the least idea—but, there, what’s the use er talkin’. Better letcher wait ’n see fer yerself. Come on up onter the poop ’n git a whiff er fresh Calcutta mixtcher, dreadful refreshin’, ain’t it?”
A long confab succeeded to the accompaniment of many cigars and sundry pegs, but not another word about the skipper and his hobbies did the mate let slip. No; we discussed, as housewives are said to do when they meet, the shortcomings of those over whom we were put in authority, compared notes as to the merits and demerits of skippers we had served under, and generally sampled the gamut of seafaring causeries, until, with my head buzzing like a mosquito in a bottle, I gave the mate good-night, and retired to my bunk in an enviable state of satisfaction at my good fortune. Next morning I was up at coffee-time, and while sitting on the after-hatch coamings enjoying the enlivening drink and chatting with the mate, a most unearthly howl fairly made my whiskers bristle. I looked at Mr. Martin, whose face wore a sarcastic grin, but never a word spake he. Another nerve-tearing yell resounded, starting me to my feet, while I exclaimed—
“Whatever is it, Mr. Martin? I’ve never heard such a devilish noise in my life.”
“Oh, it’s only some o’ the ole man’s harmless fads he’s a exercisin’. You’ll git used ter them chunes presently.”
He was going to say something else, but just then the steward emerged from the saloon—that is to say, he shot out as if he had been fired from a balista. When I saw him a few minutes before he was a suave olive-complexioned Hindoo, cat-like in his neatness, and snowy in his muslin rig. Now he was a ghastly apparition, with streaming scalp-lock and glaring eyeballs, his face a cabbage-water green, and his lank body as bare as a newly-scalded pig. Apparently incapable of flight, he crouched where he fell, salaaming with trembling hands, and chattering almost monkey-like. While the mate and I stood silently regarding him, and indignation at the poor wretch’s plight was rapidly ousting my alarm at the manner of his appearance, a mild and benevolent looking man of middle-age dressed in pyjamas appeared at the saloon door.
“Good morning, Mr. Martin,” said the skipper, for it was himself, “did you see where that heathen landed?”
“Oh yes, sir,” drawled the mate, “’eer ’e is, what’s left ov ’im.”