“‘Well, sir’ said he, ‘do you wish to speak to me?’
“‘Yes,’ replied the skipper, scratching his head, as if in great perplexity. ‘I wish you to do me a favour, Peterkin, but I don’t know very well how to ask you.’
“‘Oh, I shall be most happy,’ said poor Butter eagerly, ‘if I can be of any use to you.’
“‘I don’t doubt your willingness,’ replied the other; ‘but then—the doctor, you see—the fact is, Peterkin, the doctor being called away to see a sick Indian, has intrusted me with a delicate piece of business—rather a nasty piece of business, I may say—which I promised to do for him. You must know that the Surgical Society of London has written to him, begging, as a great favour, that he would, if possible, procure them the skull of a native. After much trouble, he has succeeded in getting one, but is obliged to keep it a great secret, even from his fellow-clerks, lest it should get wind: for if the Indians heard of it they would be sure to kill him, and perhaps burn the fort too. Now I suppose you are aware that it is necessary to boil an Indian’s head in order to get the flesh clean off the skull?’
“‘Yes; I have heard something of that sort from the students at college, who say that boiling brings flesh more easily away from the bone. But I don’t know much about it,’ replied Peterkin.
“‘Well,’ continued the skipper, ‘the doctor, who is fond of experiments, wishes to try whether baking won’t do better than boiling, and ordered the oven to be heated for that purpose this morning; but being called suddenly away, as I have said, he begged me to put the head into it as soon as it was ready. I agreed, quite forgetting at the time that I had to get this precious boat ready for sea this very afternoon. Now the oven is prepared, and I dare not leave my work; indeed, I doubt whether I shall have it quite ready and taut after all, and there’s the oven cooling; so, if you don’t help me, I’m a lost man.’
“Having said this, the skipper looked as miserable as his jolly visage would permit, and rubbed his nose.
“‘Oh, I’ll be happy to do it for you, although it is not an agreeable job,’ replied Butter.
“‘That’s right—that’s friendly now!’ exclaimed the skipper, as if greatly relieved. ‘Give us your flipper, my lad;’ and seizing Peterkin’s hand, he wrung it affectionately. ‘Now, here is the key of the outhouse; do it as quickly as you can, and don’t let anyone see you. It’s in a good cause, you know, but the results might be terrible if discovered.’
“So saying, the skipper fell to hammering the boat again with surprising vigour till Butter was out of sight, and then resuming his coat, returned to the house.