The mate, who had a piece of dumpling on his fork, half-way to his mouth, put it down again and regarded him open-mouthed.
“My foot,” continued the skipper, in surprisingly even tones, answering his subject, “will then give way and I shall fall overboard.”
The mate was about to speak, but the skipper, gazing in a rapt manner before him, waved him into silence.
“You will alarm the crew and pitch a life-belt overboard,” he continued; “you will then back sails and lower the boat.”
“You’d better take the lifebelt with you, hadn’t you?” enquired the mate, anxiously.
“I shall be picked up by a Norwegian barque, bound for China,” continued the skipper, ignoring the interruption; “I shall be away at least six months, perhaps more, according as things turn out.”
The mate pushed his scarcely tasted dinner from him, and got up from the table. It was quite evident to him that the skipper’s love affairs had turned his brain.
“By the time I get back, Matilda’ll have ceased from troubling, anyway,” said the skipper, “and I have strong hopes that Elizabeth’ll take Gibson. I shall stay away long enough to give her a fair chance, anyway.”
“But s’pose you get drowned before anything can pick you up!” suggested the mate, feebly.
“Drowned?” repeated the skipper. “Why, you didn’t think I was really going overboard, did you? I shall be locked up in my state-room.”