“No, no,” said Zingall.
“Wot does ’e mean? Give the chaps money?” said Bill, turning with a startled air to the cook.
“I dunno,” said the cook airily. “Just watch ’im, Bill,” he added, anxiously.
But Bill had something better to do, and feeling in his pockets hurriedly strove to balance his cash account. It was impossible to do anything else while he was doing it, and the situation became so strained and his language so weird that the skipper was compelled in the interest of law and morality to order him from the cabin.
“Look at me,” said Zingall to the mate after quiet had been restored.
The mate complied, and everybody gazed spellbound at the tussle for supremacy between brute force and occult science. Slowly, very slowly, science triumphed, being interrupted several times by the blood-curdling threats of Bill, as they floated down the companion-way. Then the mate suddenly lurched forward, and would have fallen but that strong hands caught him and restored him to his seat.
“I’m going to show you something now, if I can,” said Zingall, wiping his brow; “but I don’t know how it’ll come off, because I’m only a beginner at this sort of thing, and I’ve never tried this before. If you don’t mind, cap’n, I’m going to tell him he is Cap’n Bradd, and that you are the mate.”
“Go ahead,” said the delighted Bradd.
Captain Zingall went ahead full speed. With a few rapid passes he roused the mate from his torpor and fixed him with his glittering eye.
“You are Cap’n Bradd, master o’ this ship,” he said slowly.