“Why, you—” he began, but just then there was a knock on the door.
“Who’s there?” the mate called.
“It’s me. Cookie.”
Mr. Briggs relaxed. “Got some grub, hey, Cookie?”
“Yessirree. Got a little hot coffee, too.”
“Hot coffee!” the mate exclaimed, jumping to his feet and opening the door to let Cookie enter. “How on earth did you ever rustle that up?”
“Oh, just a little of Cookie’s magic,” the little bald-headed man chuckled as he slipped through the door carrying a tray.
Sure enough! He did have hot coffee! The aroma of it filled Sandy’s nostrils and his mouth watered.
He smiled fondly at Cookie, and then, to his shocked disbelief, the little man’s face went ugly with hatred.
“Don’t smirk at me, you Jonah, you!” Cookie shrilled. “I’ve had nothing but bad luck since you and your friend came aboard this ship!” Sandy recoiled from the little man as though he had been struck, and Cookie raged on, “Yes, I mean you, Sandy Steele! First, I nearly drown because of you. Then, you and your stupid friend burn my galley down. And now look at the mess everybody’s in because of your silly meddling!” Sandy shrank away from him, as insult after insult fell from the little man’s trembling lips—to the intense delight of Mr. Briggs.