“‘Well, it can’t be far,’ ses the skipper. ‘It’s just the thing to make a frock of.’
“‘I don’t think so,’ ses the mate. ‘It wouldn’t hang properly. Do you know what I was thinking of?’
“‘Well,’ ses the skipper.
“‘Three o’ them new flannel shirts o’ yours,’ ses the mate. ‘They’re very dark, an’ they’d hang beautiful.’
“‘Let’s try the dressing-gown fust,’ ses the skipper, hearty-like. ‘That’s easier. I’ll help you look for it.’
“‘I can’t think what I’ve done with it,’ ses the mate.
“‘Well, let’s try your cabin,’ ses the old man.
“They went to the mate’s cabin and, to his great surprise, there it was hanging just behind the door. It was a beautiful dressing-gown—soft, warm cloth trimmed with braid—and the skipper took up his scissors agin, and fairly gloated over it. Then he slowly cut off the top part with the two arms ’anging to it, and passed it over to the mate.
“‘I shan’t want that, Mr. Jackson,’ he ses, slowly. ‘I dare say you’ll find it come in useful.’
“‘While you’re doing that, s’pose I get on with them three shirts,’ ses Mr. Jackson.