But the mate didn't move.
"Anything else, Mr. Webb?"
"There is something else, sir," said the mate rather sheepishly.
"Well, out with it. Why, you look as if you'd seen a ghost!"
"Well, sir, there is a ghost, or demon, or something aboard of this very ship, and some of the crew are in a state next door to mutiny about it."
"What on earth do you mean, Mr. Webb?"
The tall, handsome, fair-haired Webb leaned over the table and spoke to Staysail almost in a whisper.
"It's the little professor they all blame, sir; and there are four of them who swear the ship is haunted—that he keeps evil spirits under lock and key for'ard—"
"But—but—Mr. Webb—Evil spirits under lock and key! Do you mean bad rum? And who is he?"
"Hush, sir! don't talk so loud. He's walking the deck now. It's the professor I mean, sir. As to the evil spirits, I've heard them myself—mutter, mutter, squeak, squeak, squeak! Ugh! it is awful, sir—awful!"