The mate struck a match on his boot, and lit the lamp.
“There’s a few things in there’ll want moving,” said the skipper, as he opened the door. “I don’t know where we’re to keep the onions now, Jack.”
“We’ll find a place for ’em,” said the mate confidently, as he drew out a sack and placed it on the table.
“I’m not going to sleep in there,” said the visitor decidedly, as she peered in. “Ugh! there’s a beetle. Ugh!”
“It’s quite dead,” said the mate reassuringly. “I’ve never seen a live beetle on this ship.”
“I want to go home,” said the girl. “You’ve no business to make me come when I don’t want to.”
“You should behave yourself then,” said her father magisterially. “What about sheets, Jack; and pillers?”
The mate sat on the table, and, grasping his chin, pondered. Then as his gaze fell upon the pretty, indignant face of the passenger, he lost the thread of his ideas.
“She’ll have to have some o’ my things for the present,” said the skipper.
“Why not,” said the mate, looking up again—“why not let her have your state-room?”