“You understand, Tucker,” he concluded, as the hapless seaman stood in a cringing attitude before Chrissie, “that you never let my daughter out of your sight. When she goes out you go with her.”
“Yessir,” said Tucker; “and suppose she tells me to go home, what am I to do then?”
“You’re a fool,” said the captain sharply. “It doesn’t matter what she says or does; unless you are in the same room, you are never to be more than three yards from her.”
“Make it four, cap’n,” said the boatswain, in a broken voice.
“Three,” said the captain; “and mind, she’s artful. All girls are, and she’ll try and give you the slip. I’ve had information given me as to what’s going on. Whatever happens, you are not to leave her.”
“I wish you’d get somebody else, sir,” said Tucker, very respectfully. “There’s a lot of chaps aboard that’d like the job.”
“You’re the only man I can trust,” said the captain shortly. “When I give you orders I know they’ll be obeyed; it’s your watch now.”
He went out humming. Chrissie took up a book and sat down, utterly ignoring the woebegone figure which stood the regulation three yards from her, twisting its cap in its hands.
“I hope, miss,” said the boatswain, after standing patiently for three-quarters of an hour, “as ’ow you won’t think I sought arter this ’ere little job.”
“No,” said Chrissie, without looking up.