The mate hesitated, and then, glancing at the open skylight, saw the skipper, who was standing on the table.
“Send him below,” said the latter, in a sharp whisper.
“You’d better get below, Joe,” said the mate.
“W’y, I ain’t doin’ no ’arm, sir,” said Joe, in surprise.
“Get below,” said the mate, sharply. “Do you hear?—get below. You’ll be sleeping in your watch if you don’t sleep now.”
The sounds of a carefully modulated grumble came faintly aft, then the mate, leaning away from the wheel to avoid the galley which obstructed his view, saw that his order had been obeyed.
“Now,” said the skipper, quietly, “you must give a perfect scream of horror, mind, and put this on the deck. It fell off as I went over, d’ye see?”
He handed over the slipper he had been wearing, and the mate took it surlily.
“There ought to be a splash,” he murmured. “Joe’s awake.”
The skipper vanished, to reappear a minute or two later with a sack into which he had hastily thrust a few lumps of coal and other rubbish. The mate took it from him, and, placing the slipper on the deck, stood with one hand holding the wheel and the other the ridiculous sack.