“I dunno,” said Bill, who was at the wheel, shakily. “Mrs. Blossom come up on deck a little while ago, and since then there’s been three or four heavy splashes.”
“She can’t have gone overboard,” said the skipper, in tones to which he manfully strove to impart a semblance of anxiety. “No, here she is. Anything wrong, Mrs. Blossom?”
“Not so far as I’m concerned,” replied the lady, passing him and going below.
“You’ve been dreaming, Bill,” said the skipper sharply.
“I ain’t,” said Bill stoutly. “I tell you I heard splashes. It’s my belief she coaxed the cook up on deck, and then shoved him overboard. A woman could do anything with a man like that cook.”
“I’ll soon see,” said the mate, and walking forward he put his head down the fore-scuttle and yelled for the cook.
“Aye, aye, sir,” answered a voice sleepily, while the other men started up in their bunks. “Do you want me?”
“Bill thinks somebody has gone overboard,” said the mate. “Are you all here?”
In answer to this the mystified men turned out all standing, and came on deck yawning and rubbing their eyes, while the mate explained the situation. Before he had finished the cook suddenly darted off to the galley, and the next moment the forlorn cry of a bereaved soul broke on their startled ears.
“What is it?” cried the mate.