The watchman was so particularly pleased with this little joke that in place of giving the box to Bill he put it down and sat on it, shaking convulsively with his hand over his mouth, while the blushing Matilda and the discomfited captain strove in vain to appear unconcerned.
The packages were rather a tight squeeze for the cabin, but they managed to get them in, and the skipper, with a threatening look at his mate, who was exchanging glances of exquisite humour with the watchman, gave his hand to Mrs. Bunker and helped her aboard.
“Welcome on the Sir Edmund Lyons, Mrs. Bunker,” said he. “Bill, kick that dawg back.”
“Stop!” said Mrs. Bunker hastily, “that’s my chapperong.”
“Your what?” said the skipper. “It’s a dawg, Mrs. Bunker, an’ I won’t have no dawgs aboard my craft.”
“Bill,” said Mrs. Bunker, “fetch my box up again.”
“Leastways,” the captain hastened to add, “unless it’s any friend of yours, Mrs. Bunker.”
“It’s chaperoning me,” said Matilda; “it wouldn’t be proper for a lady to go a v’y’ge with two men without somebody to look after her.”
“That’s right, Sam,” said the watchman sententiously. “You ought to know that at your age.”
“Why, we’re looking after her,” said the simple-minded captain. “Me an’ Bill.”