"Beg his pardon, ma'm, it was Mr. Jones!"
Cynthia turned upon me a glance of most withering scorn and horror.
"You hear what this honest sailor says, Mr. Jones?"
"Tell you how it was, ma'm," said Tomkins. "I come on deck this mornin', long 'bout 'leven o'clock, and I see we was goin' straight for the land. Skipper was below, you was below. Mr. Jones, he had the wheel. I says, 'Fer Gord's sake, Mr. Jones,' I says, 'what are you a-doin', sir?' He says, says he, 'You, Tomkins, mind your da—, mind your busi——'"
"Shut up, Tomkins!" said the Skipper. "If you're goin', you'd better get ready."
Cynthia turned on me.
"What could possess you to do such a thing?"
"I was so anxious to get home to see William Brown," said I. "Haven't we had enough of this farce, Miss Archer?"
The Skipper laughed aloud, and I saw the backs of some of the men shaking.