Any idea that the skipper might have had of the healing effects of sleep were rudely dispelled when the mate came on deck next morning, and found that they had taken the schooner out without arousing him. His delusion seemed to be stronger than ever, and pushing the skipper from the wheel he took it himself, and read him a short and sharp lecture on the virtues of obedience.
“I know you’re a good sort, George Smith,” he said, leniently, “nobody could wish for a better, but while I’m master of this here ship it don’t become you to take things upon yourself in the way you do.”
“But you don’t understand,” said the skipper, trying to conquer his temper. “Now look me in the eye, George.”
“Who are you calling George?” said the mate sharply.
“Well, look me in the eye, then,” said the skipper, waiving the point.
“I’ll look at you in a way you won’t like in a minute,” said the mate, ferociously.
“I want to explain the position of affairs to you,” said the skipper. “Do you remember Cap’n Zingall what was aboard last night?”
“Little dirty-looking man what kept staring at me?” demanded the mate.
“Well, I don’t know about ’is being dirty,” said the skipper, “but that’s the man. Do you know what he did to you, Geo—”
“Eh!” said the mate, sharply.