"Simpkins," he said, "you are chief officer, second officer and bo'son, and don't you forget it. As for you others, I'll have you know that you're the crew. Just drop any kind of heightened notion that you are passengers, and we'll get along easy; but if you don't, look out for squalls. Simpkins, turn this useless lot to throwin' the remains of the deck cargo overboard, and try a couple of 'em at the pumps; maybe her seams may have closed up again by now." And going aft to the scuttle, he disappeared from view.
"Well," said the geologist, "of all the infernal——"
"Oh, stow that," cried Simpkins, "and turn to. You're here, ain't you, and lucky you should consider yourself. And the captain's a man of his word, as I know; so look slippy and pass this bloomin' truck over the side."
The miserable crew looked at each other in despair.
"Come now," said Simpkins impatiently, "do you want me to report you chaps as refusin' duty?"
The geologist, who was the youngest and sturdiest man in the crowd, said that he did; but the astronomer and the entomologist remonstrated with him.
"I think we'd better," said the unhappy insect man. "This Prowse seems a regular brute."
"He is," said the astronomer, "and I pray to Heaven that he doesn't find any rum on board."
But Heaven did not listen, and the captain presently came on deck with a flushed face.
"Simpkins," roared Prowse, as his head appeared over the edge of the scuttle.