“Will anybody have a drop?” asked the owner, waving the bottle to and fro.
As he spoke a grimy paw shot out from behind him, and, before he quite realised the situation, the cook had accepted the invitation, and was hurriedly making the most of it.
“Not you,” growled the skipper, snatching the bottle from him; “I didn’t mean you. Well, my lads, if you won’t have it neat you shall have it watered.”
Before anybody could guess his intention he walked to the water-cask, and, removing the cover, poured in the rum. In the midst of a profound silence he emptied the three bottles, and then, with a triumphant smile, turned and confronted his astonished crew.
“What’s in that cask, Dick?” he asked quietly.
“Rum and water,” groaned Dick; “but that ain’t fair play, sir. We’ve kep’ to our part o’ the agreement, sir, an’ you ought to ha’ kep’ to yours.”
“So I have,” was the quick reply; “so I have, an’ I still keep to it. Don’t you see this, my lads; when you start playing antics with me you’re playing a fool’s game, an’ you’re bound to come a cropper. Some men would ha’ waited longer afore they spiled their game, but I think you’ve suffered enough. Now there’s a lump of beef and some taters on, an’ you’d better go and make a good square meal, an’ next time you want to alter the religion of people as knows better than you do, think twice.”
“We don’t want no beef, sir; biskit’ll do for us,” said Dick firmly.
“All right, please yourselves,” said the skipper; “but mind, no hanky-panky, no coming for drink when my back’s turned; this cask’ll be watched; but if you do alter your mind about the beef you can tell the cook to get it for you any time you like.”
He threw the bottles overboard, and, ignoring the groaning and head-shaking of the men, walked away, listening with avidity to the respectful tributes to his genius tendered by the mate and cook—flattery so delicate and so genuine withal that he opened another bottle.