“Yes, mum,” chorused the crew, delighted at being understood so easily.
Mrs. Hunt looked across the road to the fields stretching beyond. Then she suddenly brought her gaze back, and, looking full at her husband, uttered just two words—
“Oh, Joe!”
“Ask the mate,” cried the frantic skipper.
“Yes, I know what the mate’ll say,” said Mrs. Hunt. “I’ve no need to ask him.”
“Charlie and Harry were with Sam when the boy came up to them,” protested the skipper.
“I’ve no doubt,” said his wife. “Oh, Joe! Joe! Joe!”
There was an uncomfortable silence, during which the crew, standing for the most part on one leg in sympathy with their chief’s embarrassment, nudged each other to say something to clear the character of a man whom all esteemed.
“You ungrateful little devil,” burst out Mr. Legge, at length; “arter the kind way the skipper treated you, too.”
“Did he treat him kindly?” inquired the captain’s wife, in conversational tones.