“I don’t think you have any call to say that, Jack,” remarked Flower, with some dignity.
“Well, I wish it was well over,” said the mate, despondently. “What are you going to do for money?”
“I drew out £40 to get married with—furniture and things,” said Flower; “that’ll go overboard with me, of course. I’m doing all this for Poppy’s sake more than my own, and I want you to go up and see her every trip, and let me know how she is. She mightn’t care what happened to her if she thinks I’m gone, and she might marry somebody else in desperation.”
“I don’t care about facing her,” said Fraser, bitterly; “it’s a shady business altogether.”
“It’s for her sake,” repeated Flower, calmly, “Take on old Ben as mate, and ship another hand forward.”
The mate ended the subject by going to his bunk and turning in; the skipper, who realised that he himself would have plenty of time for sleep, went on deck and sat silently smoking. Old Ben was at the wheel, and the skipper felt a glow of self-rightousness as he thought of the rise in life he was about to give the poor fellow.
At eight o’clock the mate relieved Ben, and the skipper with a view of keeping up appearances announced his intention of turning in for a bit.
The sun went down behind clouds of smoky red, but the light of the summer evening lasted for some time after. Then darkness came down over the sea, and it was desolate except for the sidelights of distant craft. The mate drew out his watch and by the light of the binnacle-lamp, saw that it was ten minutes to ten. At the same moment he heard somebody moving about forward.
“Who’s that for’ard?” he cried, smartly.
“Me, sir,” answered Joe’s voice. “I’m a bit wakeful, and it’s stiflin’ ’ot down below.”