"A good job if you did," was the reply. "He was a notorious scoundrel. If you snuffed him out, I suspect the police would feel inclined to vote you a medal. But don't feel badly about that incident, Blake. Remember, you dropped him in self-defense."
"Gentlemen!" broke in Ruth suddenly. "We will have to adjourn this meeting till another time. Seven bells went some time ago. I have just time to get my coffee and relieve the bosun by midnight."
"What—the watch gone!" cried the captain. "But, lass, you have had no rest."
"Small matter," assented the girl, rising. "I'll make up for it. Is there any change in course, captain?"
"No, make all the westing we can," said the captain. "If this breeze will only hold a couple of days longer, we'll pick up the trades. Then for the passage!"
"But—a second!" exclaimed Little Billy. "We have not yet assigned our new brother to his duties. You know, Blake, there are no drones in the happy family. Now, I suggest, you are eminently qualified to assist the hard-driven steward."
A hearty laugh from the girl and the old man checked the hunchback's speech.
"No, you are not going to sluff your job upon poor Mr. Blake's shoulders!" cried Ruth. "That is—unless he wishes to become a steward."
"I want to be a sailor," Martin asserted emphatically.
"Well said, lad—I know you have mettle," commented Captain Dabney. "But it means work. You cannot learn a sailor's work by pacing a poop-deck."