“Give me a hold on her,” said he.
“You had better get below again, if you don’t want the missis to see you,” said the mate. “She’s gettin’ up—nasty temper she’s in too.”
The skipper went forward grumbling. “Send down a good breakfast, George,” said he.
To his great discomfort the mate suddenly gave a low whistle, and regarded him with a look of blank dismay.
“Good gracious!” he cried, “I forgot all about it. Here’s a pretty kettle of fish—well, well.”
“Forgot about what?” asked the skipper uneasily.
“The crew take their meals in the cabin now,” replied the mate, “’cos the missis says it’s more cheerful for ’em, and she’s l’arning ’em to eat their wittles properly.”
The skipper looked at him aghast. “You’ll have to smuggle me up some grub,” he said at length. “I’m not going to starve for nobody.”
“Easier said than done,” said the mate. “The missis has got eyes like needles; still, I’ll do the best I can for you. Look out! Here she comes.”
The skipper fled hastily, and, safe down below, explained to the crew how they were to secrete portions of their breakfast for his benefit. The amount of explanation required for so simple a matter was remarkable, the crew manifesting a denseness which irritated him almost beyond endurance. They promised, however, to do the best they could for him, and returned in triumph after a hearty meal, and presented their enraged commander with a few greasy crumbs and the tail of a bloater.