The mate caught the twinkle in Father’s eye and raised his voice for the benefit of the greenhorn cabin-boy who was listening to the conversation, big-eyed, in the pantry.
“All right, Captain, and when Neptune comes aboard shall I tell him about Slops trespassing on his domain?”
“Yes. He’ll probably raise hell because he doesn’t like the uninitiated to cross the Equator.”
The cabin-boy came out of the pantry and made a pretense of passing the bread to me.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said to Father, “but what does the Equator look like?”
“It’s a white line about three feet under the water. I just told Mr. Swanson here to get out the hawser and have it ready. When we cross the Equator we begin goin’ down hill and slip south so fast we got to tie a line on to the Equator,” Father lied without blinking an eye.
Slops sniffed, pretending contempt.
“You can’t fool me, Captain,” he protested.
Father looked very stern.
“When you have washed up here I want you to lean overboard and look for the line and when you see it, call me,” he ordered the cabin-boy.