The mate was relieved the next day when he saw the portrait of Towson. He stroked his moustache, and felt that he gained in good looks every time he glanced at it.
Breakfast finished, the skipper, who had been on deck all night, retired to his bunk. The mate went on deck and took charge, watching with great interest the movements of the passenger as she peered into the galley and hotly assailed the cook’s method of washing up.
“Don’t you like the sea?” he inquired politely, as she came and sat on the cabin skylight.
Miss Alsen shook her head dismally. “I’ve got to it,” she remarked.
“Your father was saying something to me about it,” said the mate guardedly.
“Did he tell the cook and the cabin boy too?” inquired Miss Alsen, flushing somewhat. “What did he tell you?”
“Told me about a man named Towson,” said the mate, becoming intent on the sails, “and—another fellow.”
“I took a little notice of him just to spoil the other,” said the girl, “not that I cared for him. I can’t understand a girl caring for any man. Great, clumsy, ugly things.”
“You don’t like him then?” said the mate.
“Of course not,” said the girl, tossing her head.