"Didn't I tell you that pudding wasn't fit to give to a dog?"
"Yes, you did, sir, but the man did his best. I thin——"
"Mr. Jones, am I Captain of this vessel, or am I not?"
An acquiescent nod from me.
"Very well, then! You go below, Mr. Jones, and you take Bill Tomkins and the Growler, and you take that pudding, and you put it in the brig, and you take that Cook and you set him alongside of it, and you lock the door, and don't you let either of 'em come out until one of 'em's inside of the other!"
"Yes, sir," said I, and I went below to carry out his orders.
I closed the door of the brig, leaving the Cook sitting in the hot little place, looking ruefully at the nauseous mess that he had tried to force on the cabin table. I suddenly remembered something that I wanted done about the men's mess gear, and returned along the companion way. It was evident that I was not expected, for I heard some words, not overcomplimentary to myself, proceeding from the Growler, who had lingered behind; and he added, calling out to the Cook:
"Never mind, doctor,[A] you will be ashore in less than an hour."
[A] A sailor's name for the Cook.
When I came on deck again the Skipper had the glass glued to his eyes.