“The cat, can’t you see the cat?” said the skipper, whose eyes had been riveted on the animal since its first appearance on deck.
Sam hesitated a moment, and then shook his head.
“The case has fallen on the cat,” said the skipper. “I can see it distinctly.”
He might have said heard it, too, for Satan was making frenzied appeals to his sympathetic friends for assistance.
“Let me put the case back, sir,” said one of the men, “then p’raps the vision ’ll disappear.”
“No, stop where you are,” said the skipper. “I can stand it better by daylight. It’s the most wonderful and extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen. Do you mean to say you can’t see anything, Sam?”
“I can see a case, sir,” said Sam, speaking slowly and carefully, “with a bit of rusty iron band sticking out from it. That’s what you’re mistaking for the cat, p’raps, sir.”
“Can’t you see anything, cook?” demanded the skipper.
“It may be fancy, sir,” faltered the cook, lowering his eyes, “but it does seem to me as though I can see a little misty sort o’ thing there. Ah, now it’s gone.”
“No, it ain’t,” said the skipper. “The ghost of Satan’s sitting there. The case seems to have fallen on its tail. It appears to be howling something dreadful.”