“Now you all know what you have got to do?” queried the skipper.
“Ay, ay,” replied the crew, grinning still more deeply.
Hezekiah regarded them closely, and then ordering the boat to be lowered, scrambled over the side, and was pulled swiftly towards the shore.
A sharp scream, and a breathless “Lawk-a-mussy me!” as he tapped at his mother’s window, assured him that the old lady was alive and well, and he continued on his way until he brought up at a small but pretty house in the next road.
“Morning, Mr. Rumbolt,” said he heartily to a stout, red-faced man, who sat smoking in the doorway.
“Morning, cap’n, morning,” said the red-faced man.
“Is the rheumatism any better?” inquired Hezekiah anxiously, as he grasped the other’s huge hand.
“So, so,” said the other. “But it ain’t the rheumatism so much what troubles me,” he resumed, lowering his voice, and looking round cautiously. “It’s Kate.”
“What?” said the skipper.
“You’ve heard of a man being henpecked?” continued Mr. Rumbolt, in tones of husky confidence.