“Are you there?” he asked, in a whisper.
“Of course I am, you fool!” said the skipper, wrathfully; “where’s my dinner?”
“I’m very sorry,” began the mate, in a whisper.
“What?” enquired the skipper, fiercely.
“I’ve mislaid the key,” said the mate, grinning fiendishly, “an’, what’s more, I can’t think what I’ve done with it.”
At this intelligence, the remnants of the skipper’s temper vanished, and every bad word he had heard of, or read of, or dreamt of, floated from his hungry lips in frenzied whispers.
“I can’t hear what you say,” said the mate. “What?”
The prisoner was about to repeat his remarks with a few embellishments, when the mate stopped him with one little word. “Hist!” he said, quietly.
At the imminent risk of bursting, or going mad, the skipper stopped short, and the mate, addressing a remark to the cook, who was not present, went up on deck.
He found the key by tea-time, and, his triumph having made him generous, passed the skipper in a large hunk of the cold beef with his tea. The skipper took it and eyed him wanly, having found an empty stomach very conducive to accurate thinking.