“Of course I will,” said the other indignantly.
“Now, my lads,” said Harris, stepping forward, “I can’t have you chaps hanging round the galley all day; you’re getting in cook’s way and hindering her. Just get your knives out; I’ll have the masts scraped.”
“You just stay where you are,” said Mrs. Blossom. “When they’re in my way, I’ll soon let ’em know.”
“Did you hear what I said?” thundered the skipper, as the men hesitated.
“Aye, aye, sir,” muttered the crew, moving off.
“How dare you interfere with me?” said Mrs. Blossom hotly, as she realised the defeat. “Ever since I’ve been on this ship you’ve been trying to aggravate me. I wonder the men don’t hit you, you nasty, ginger-whiskered little man.”
“Go on with your work,” said the skipper, fondly stroking the maligned whiskers.
“Don’t you talk to me, Jim Harris,” said Mrs. Blossom, quivering with wrath. “Don’t you give me none of your airs. Who borrowed five pounds from my poor dead husband just before he died, and never paid it back?”
“Go on with your work,” repeated the skipper, with pale lips.
“Whose uncle Benjamin had three weeks?” demanded Mrs. Blossom darkly. “Whose uncle Joseph had to go abroad without stopping to pack up?”