“He ’ad,” said Joe; “everybody wot sees you loves you, George. They can’t help theirselves.”
“And I ’ave ’ad them two ladies down agin asking for Mr. Robinson, and also for poor Cap’n Flower,” said the watchman; “they asked me some questions about ’im, and I told ’em the lies wot you told me to tell ’em, Joe; p’r’aps that’s w’y I ’ad the warning.”
Joe turned away with a growl and went below, and Tim and the cook after greedily waiting for some time to give the watchman’s imagination a further chance, followed his example. George left to himself took his old seat on the post at the end of the jetty, being, if the truth must be told, some-what alarmed by his own fertile inventions.
Three times did the mate, in response to the frenzied commands of the skipper, come stealthily up the companion-way and look at him. Time was passing and action of some kind was imperative.
“George,” he whispered, suddenly.
“Sir,” said the watchman.
“I want to speak to you,” said Fraser, mysteriously; “come down here.”
George rose carefully from his seat, and lowering himself gingerly on board, crept on tiptoe to the galley after the mate.
“Wait in here till I come back,” said the latter, in a thrilling whisper; “I’ve got something to show you. Don’t move, whatever happens.”
His tones were so fearful, and he put so much emphasis on the last sentence, that the watchman burst hurriedly out of the galley.