Holding the rest of the coins against his chest Mephisto hurled one on to the sacred precincts of the quarter-deck. It landed in one of the compartments of the pay-table, displacing a sovereign, that rolled between the staff-paymaster and the assistant-paymaster.
Both officers simultaneously stooped to recover the errant piece of gold. The result was that their heads met with a thud in spite of the protection afforded by their peaked caps.
Several of the men could not conceal a grin. One broke into a laugh, and meeting the stern glance of the commander tried to side-track into a painful cough.
Fortunately for the culprit the commander was inwardly affected by a similar complaint, for he, too, saw the humour of the business.
"Confound you!" shouted the staff-paymaster, removing his cap and rubbing his bald head. "Confound you, you brute! Throwing away the money from the public chest!"
The only reply from Mephisto was another penny that, thrown with splendid aim, rebounded from the staff-paymaster's shiny pate.
"The ship's company will have to make up the loss," he muttered. "They're responsible for their confounded pet."
"But you're responsible for the money, Staggles," remarked the commander drily. "At any rate, Mephisto is paying you back by instalments."
It wanted all the self-control at their command to keep the lookout men's attention from the comic scene to a duty of a serious nature, while the gun's crews temporarily forgot their duties to watch the encounter between the mascot and the staff-paymaster.
"Catch it—oh, you rotten butterfingers!" groaned the accountant officer to the assistant-paymaster, who, missing a coin thrown by the animal, allowed the sum of one penny to be committed to the deep. "Here, ship's steward, nip below and open a tin of condensed. That may tempt the brute below."