“Don’t mean that, do you, sir?” he cried.
“Indeed, but I do,” replied the doctor.
“Going too far,” growled the skipper. “Look here, doctor; I’ve fell into all your ways like a man, and have helped to drill the chaps into handling your tackle, which is outside an able seaman’s dooties; but I don’t like this ’ere a bit.”
“I can’t help that,” said the doctor, bristling up. “I shall of course tell them that they must not touch this stuff, of which no doubt I shall use a great deal, and it will be in direct opposition to my orders if they give way to the temptation.”
“Right enough,” said the skipper, “but seamen’s weak—like babies in some things—and a good skipper has to be like a father to them, to keep them out of mischief. Don’t know no better, doctor. You do, and it’s too strong, sir; it’s too strong.”
“Then let them leave it alone,” said the doctor hotly.
“That’s right, sir, but maybe they won’t. Don’t mean to say that I am stupid over them, but when I get a good crew I like to take care of them. Here, I’m getting out of breath. Can’t make long speeches. Cut it short.”
“Then say no more about it,” said the doctor.
“Nay, it won’t do. Taking out a good crew of smart lads. Want to bring them all back, not leave none of them sewed up in their hammocks and sunk in the sea with a shot at their heels. Look here, sir; how many of them there kegs have you doctored?”
“All of them. Why, my good fellow, you don’t think I have put poison in, do you?”