"That ain't any use to me," growled the second-mate, rather taken aback at this unhesitating rejection.
"I'm sorry, but——"
"What's wrong with me, then?" he burst out. "Of course I'm not a bloomin' earl or a dook nor yet a Captain——"
"I think we had better forget all about it," answered the girl. "Please don't speak of it again."
But Smith, his hopes dashed to the ground, and his pride wounded, was not inclined to drop the subject so lightly. In fact, he completely lost his temper.
"I suppose it's because you're sweet on the skipper," he said savagely. "But I can tell you that you ain't got a ghost of a chance there; no, not if you lived to a hundred. He ain't no ornery, bloomin' skipper, nor Calamity ain't his name. Would you like to know who he is?"
The girl hesitated, torn between an almost irresistible desire to learn the secret of that strange man's identity, and disgust at the vulgar outburst of the little Cockney.
"You may as well know," he added, noticing her indecision.
"Well, tell me then," she retorted, unable any longer to resist the temptation.
Smith glanced furtively around the cabin as if to make sure no one was concealed there, and then leaned over the edge of his bunk.