The mate did not stay to inform him. He walked hastily to the quartette and, bursting with rage, asked Jones what he meant by it.
“Mean by wot, sir?” asked Jones, in surprise.
“Top-hats,” said the mate, choking.
The four turned and regarded him stolidly, keeping as close together as possible for the sake of moral support and the safety of their head-gear.
“For the weddin’, sir,” said Jones, as though that explained everything.
“You take ’em off,” said the mate, sharply. “I won’t let you wear ’em.”
“I beg your pardin,” said Jones, with great politeness, “we got these ’ere ’ats for the weddin’, an’ we’re a-goin’ to wear ’em.”
He took the offending article off and brushed it tenderly with his coat-sleeve, while the furious mate looked assault and battery at the other three. Tim, whose hat came well down over his eyes, felt comparatively safe; but the cook, conscious that his perched lightly on the top of his head, drew back a pace. Then he uttered an exclamation as Captain Nibletts, who was officiating as best man, came hurriedly down the cliff.
“Hats?” said the little skipper, disengaging himself from the mate’s grasp, as he came on board. “Yes, I don’t mind.”
“Wot about Capt’in Barber?” demanded the mate, impressively.