“Who is it?” asked the puzzled Flower, advancing a pace or two.
The seaman hesitated. Then a sudden inspiration, born of the memories of last year’s proceedings, seized him, and he shook with the brilliancy of it. He looked significantly at Mr. Green, and his voice trembled with excitement.
“The lady who used to come down to the Foam asking for Mr. Robinson,” he stammered.
“What?” said the dismayed Flower, coming briskly forward and interposing two masts, the funnel, and the galley between himself and the cabin. “Why on earth didn’t you say so before?”
“Well, I didn’t know what to do, sir,” said Joe, humbly; “it ain’t for the likes of me to interfere.”
Flower knit his brows, and tapped the deck with his foot.
“What’s she doing down there?” he said, irritably; “she’s not going to marry Fraser, is she?”
Joe gulped.
“Yessir,” he said, promptly.
“Yessir,” said Mr. Green, with an intuitive feeling that a lie of such proportions required backing.