The skipper was sitting aft, pipe in mouth, and waiting for me. I resolved to take the bold course and not wait to be spoken to.
“The top of the morning to you, captain,” said I, saluting; “and it’s well you’re looking since you were at my mother’s wake.”
He stared at me, and then seemed to understand.
“You—you are Gallagher’s boy, then?”
“The same, captain,” said I; “and I’m obliged to you for this day’s food.”
“Gallagher was no friend of mine,” said he; “but since he is dead, that shall not be against you, if you sail with me.”
“Dead!” I exclaimed. “Is my father dead?”
“The Cigale went down off Foreland Head a month since.”
“And Tim, my brother, was he drowned?”
“Likely enough, if he was aboard. Only two of the crew escaped.—So you sail under my orders?”