"Pickpockets," said the mate, dutifully.
"It's a very handy thing," said the old man, jeeringly, "to have a doctor aboard. First time I've carried a surgeon."
Mr. Mackenzie guffawed loudly.
"And a solicitor," said the skipper, gazing darkly at the hapless Harry Thomson, who was cleaning brasswork. "Handy in case of disputes. He's a real sea lawyer. Cook!"
"Sir?" said the doctor, quietly.
"Go down and tidy my cabin, and see you do it well."
The doctor went below without a word, and worked like a housemaid. When he came on deck again, his face wore a smile almost of happiness, and his hand caressed one trousers pocket as though it concealed a hidden weapon.
For the following three or four days the two unfortunates were worked unceasingly. Mr. Thomson complained bitterly, but the cook wore a sphinx-like smile and tried to comfort him.
"It won't be for long, Harry," he said, consolingly.
The solicitor sniffed. "I could write tract after tract on temperance," he said, bitterly. "I wonder what our poor wives are thinking? I expect they have put us down as dead."