“Yes, I hear,” said the other, with an aggressive sniff, as she moved slowly to the side. “But I’m not satisfied that the captain is dead. They’d tell us anything. You’ve not seen the last of me, young man, I can tell you.”
“I hope not,” said Fraser, cordially. “Any time the ship’s up in London and you care to come down, I shall be pleased to see you.”
Mrs. Tipping, heated with the climb, received this courtesy with coldness, and having enquired concerning the fate of Captain Flower of six different people, and verified their accounts from the landlord of the public-house at the corner, to whom she introduced herself with much aplomb as being in the profession, went home with her daughter, in whom depression, in its most chronic form, had settled in the form of unfilial disrespect.
Two hours later the Foam got under way, and, after some heated language owing to the watchman mistaking Mr. Green’s urbanity for sarcasm, sailed slowly down the river. The hands were unusually quiet, but their behaviour passed unnoticed by the new skipper, who was too perturbed by the falsehoods he had told and those he was about to tell to take much heed of anything that was passing.
“I thought you said you preferred to keep for-’ard?” he said to Ben, as that worthy disturbed his meditations next morning by bustling into the cabin and taking his seat at the breakfast table.
“I’ve changed my mind; the men don’t know their place,” said the mate, shortly.
Fraser raised his eyebrows.
“Forget who I am,” said Ben, gruffly. “I was never one to take much count of such things, but when it comes to being patted on the back by an A. B., it’s time to remind ’em.”
“Did they do that?” said Fraser, in a voice of horror.
“Joe did,” said Ben. “’E won’t do it ag’in, I don’t think. I didn’t say anything, but I think ’e knows my feelings.”