"I don't know, sir," I answered, resolved not to have a hand in his undoing.
"My whiskey never was found. Do you think that he has secreted it?"
"Oh, uncle!" said the girl, who had listened. "What are you thinking of? He is a perfect gentleman; he could not be a drunkard."
The captain still looked at me, waiting for my answer. I was half resolved to give it truthfully, when a commotion forward forestalled it. "Git aft where ye b'long, you drunken son of a boardin' master," shouted an Irishman of the crew, "an' sind the second mate, if you want things done shipshape."
He had Fred by the collar, and was marching him ahead at the end of his extended arm. With a final shove, and a kick, he sent Fred from him, and went forward.
Fred fell in a heap; then arose, and, with a solemn scowl on his face, climbed the steps, and joined us at the wheel. The girl looked at him wonderingly, the skipper disdainfully. Fred's eyes were bleary, and his walk unsteady; he had assisted his progress aft by leaning on the rail.
"Go down to your room, sir," said the captain sternly, "and remain there. You are drunk. Get yourself out of sight of my crew."
"Yeth, thir," lisped Fred, stumbling forward along the alley to the steps, down which he floundered.
"I will stand his watch, Mr. Winters," said the captain to me. "Go below, if you like, Josie; go down, and forget your interest in that young wretch. I am disappointed in him, and am through with him."
When I saw the look on the girl's face, I was glad that I had not denounced him. I have seen that look in the face of a mother at the coffin of her child.