He was interrupted in this amusement by the sound of footsteps and feminine voices behind him; the indefatigable Tippings were paying another of their informal visits, and, calmly ignoring his presence, came to the edge of the jetty and discussed ways and means of boarding the schooner.
“Mr. Fraser’s gone,” said the watchman, politely and loudly, “there’s a new skipper now, and that tall, fine, ’andsome, smart, good-looking young feller down there is the new mate.”
The new mate, looking up fiercely, acknowledged the introduction with an inhospitable stare, a look which gave way to one of anxiety as Mrs. Tipping, stepping into the rigging, suddenly lost her nerve, and, gripping it tightly, shook it in much the same fashion as a stout bluebottle shakes the web of a spider.
“Hold tight, mar,” cried her daughter, excitedly.
The watchman stepped into the rigging beside her, and patted her soothingly on the back; the mate, coming to the side, took her foot and assisted her to reach the deck. Miss Tipping followed, and the elder lady, after recovering from the shock caused by her late peril, fell to discussing the eternal subject of Mr. Robinson with the new mate.
“No, I never see ’im,” said Ben, thoughtfully; “I never heard of him till you come asking arter ’im.
“You must make up your mind he’s gone,” said Mrs. Tipping, turning to her daughter, “that’s what I keep telling you. I never was so tired of anything in my life as tramping down here night after night. It ain’t respectable.”
“You needn’t come,” said the other, dutifully. “He was last heard of on this ship, and where else am I to look for him? You said you’d like to find him yourself.”
“I should,” said Mrs. Tipping, grimly; “I should. Me an’ him are to have a little talk, if ever we do meet.”
“If he ever comes aboard this ship,” said the mate, firmly, “I’ll tackle him for you.”