“Of course he don’t,” said the other men indignantly.
Matters being thus agreeably arranged, Sam got a gimlet, and prepared the chest for the reception of its tenant, who, convinced that he was being put out of the way to make room for a rival, made a frantic fight for freedom.
“Now get something ’eavy and put on the top of it,” said Sam, having convinced himself that the lock was broken; “and, Billy, put the noo cat in the paint-locker till we start; it’s home-sick.”
The boy obeyed, and the understudy was kept in durance vile until they were off Limehouse, when he came on deck and nearly ended his career there and then by attempting to jump over the bulwark into the next garden. For some time he paced the deck in a perturbed fashion, and then, leaping on the stern, mewed plaintively as his native city receded farther and farther from his view.
“What’s the matter with old Satan?” said the mate, who had been let into the secret. “He seems to have something on his mind.”
“He’ll have something round his neck presently,” said the skipper grimly.
The prophecy was fulfilled some three hours later, when he came up on deck ruefully regarding the remains of a bird whose vocabulary had once been the pride of its native town. He threw it overboard without a word, and then, seizing the innocent cat, who had followed him under the impression that it was about to lunch, produced half a brick attached to a string, and tied it round his neck. The crew, who were enjoying the joke immensely, raised a howl of protest.
“The Skylark’ll never have another like it, sir,” said Sam solemnly. “That cat was the luck of the ship.”
“I don’t want any of your old woman’s yarns,” said the skipper brutally. “If you want the cat, go and fetch it.”
He stepped aft as he spoke, and sent the gentle stranger hurtling through the air. There was a “plomp” as it reached the water, a bubble or two came to the surface, and all was over.