“I’m just obeying orders,” continued the boatswain. “I always git let in for these ’ere little jobs, somehow. The monkeys I’ve had to look arter aboard ship would frighten you. There never was a monkey on the Monarch but what I was in charge of. That’s what a man gets through being trustworthy.”
“Just so,” said Chrissie, putting down her book. “Well, I’m going into the kitchen now; come along, nursie.”
“’Ere, I say, miss!” remonstrated Tucker, flushing.
“I don’t know how Susan will like you going in her kitchen,” said Chrissie thoughtfully; “however, that’s your business.”
The unfortunate seaman followed his fair charge into the kitchen, and, leaning against the door-post, doubled up like a limp rag before the terrible glance of its mistress.
“Ho!” said Susan, who took the state of affairs as an insult to the sex in general; “and what might you be wanting?”
“Cap’n’s orders,” murmured Tucker feebly.
“I’m captain here,” said Susan, confronting him with her bare arms akimbo.
“And credit it does you,” said the boatswain, looking round admiringly.
“Is it your wish, Miss Chrissie, that this image comes and stalks into my kitchen as if the place belongs to him?” demanded the irate Susan.