“Anything wrong, sir?” inquired the seaman anxiously, as he ran to the wheel.
The skipper pulled himself together a bit, and got closer to his companion.
“Believe me or not, Bob,” he said at length, in trembling accents, “just as you please, but the ghost of that—cat, I mean the ghost of that poor affectionate animal which I drowned, and which I wish I hadn’t, came and rubbed itself up against my leg.”
“Which leg?” inquired Bob, who was ever careful about details.
“What the blazes does it matter which leg?” demanded the skipper, whose nerves were in a terrible state. “Ah, look—look there!”
The seaman followed his outstretched finger, and his heart failed him as he saw the cat, with its back arched, gingerly picking its way along the side of the vessel.
“I can’t see nothing,” he said doggedly.
“I don’t suppose you can, Bob,” said the skipper in a melancholy voice, as the cat vanished in the bows; “it’s evidently only meant for me to see. What it means I don’t know. I’m going down to turn in. I ain’t fit for duty. You don’t mind being left alone till the mate comes up, do you?”
“I ain’t afraid,” said Bob.
His superior officer disappeared below, and, shaking the sleepy mate, who protested strongly against the proceedings, narrated in trembling tones his horrible experiences.