"Exactly. I will go up, dressed like you, and catch them unawares, one by one."
"But, Billie, they will kill you, or—hurt you. Don't do it, Billie."
"Now, here, Florrie girl," he answered firmly. "I'll go into the wardroom, and you toss in the materials for my disguise. Then you go to bed. If I get into trouble they will return the clothes."
"But suppose they kill you! I will be at their mercy. Billie, I am alone here without you."
"Florrie, they are sailors; that means that they are men. If I win, you are all right, of course. Now let me have the things. I want to get command of this boat."
"Take them, Billie; but return to me and tell me. Don't leave me in suspense."
"I won't. I'll report, Florrie. Just wait and be patient."
He passed into the wardroom, and soon the skirt, hat, and cloak were thrown to him. He had some trouble in donning the garments; for, while the length of the skirt did not matter, the width certainly did, and he must needs piece out the waistband with a length of string, ruthlessly punching holes to receive it. The cloak was a tight squeeze for his broader shoulders, but he managed it; and, after he had thoroughly masked his face with bandages, he tried the hat. There were hatpins sticking to it, which he knew the utility of; but, as she had furnished him nothing of her thick crown of hair, he jabbed these through the bandage, and surveyed himself in the skipper's large mirror.
"Most ladylike," he muttered, squinting through the bandages. Then he went on deck.
His plan had progressed no further than this—to be able to reach the deck unrecognized, so that he could watch, listen to the talk, and decide what he might do later on.