“What’s the matter?”
Mark’s heart gave a bound, and for the moment he thought everything would be set right in a humane way. Then, as he heard the chief mate speak, he felt that it would be all wrong.
“What’s the matter, Captain Strong!” thundered the officer. “Everything’s the matter. Here we’ve to sail first tide to-morrow, and look at us. My cargo, that was all stowed, hauled all over the ship. We’ve been ever since four o’clock getting him out, and now it’s nearly ten. And look at him—all hands unstowing cargo to get out a thing like that!”
“Where was he?” said the captain sternly.
“Where was he!” roared the mate, who looked as if one of his legs was quivering to kick the grovelling stowaway; “where wasn’t he? Groaning all over the ship; and if it hadn’t been for that dog—”
“Ah! the dog helped, did he?”
“Yes, sir; smelt him out buried down below a thousand tons—”
“More or less,” said Mr Morgan laughing.
“Well, I didn’t weigh or measure the cargo, did I, sir?” roared the first-mate. “Look at it, sir—look at it, captain. We shall be at work all night re-stowing it, and then sha’n’t be done.”
“He was right down there?”