“If you were going to say pretty girl,” said Miss Cringle, with calm self-abnegation, “don’t mind me, say it. The captain knows what he’s about. He told me you were a milksop; he said you were a good young man and a teetotaller.”
The mate, allowing the truth of the captain’s statement as to his abstinence, hotly denied the charge of goodness. “I can understand your father’s hurry to get rid of you for a spell,” he concluded, being goaded beyond all consideration of politeness. “His gout ’ud never get well while you were with him. More than that, I shouldn’t wonder if you were the cause of it.”
With this parting shot he departed, before the girl could think of a suitable reply, and went and sulked in the dingy little fo’c’sle.
In the evening, the weather having moderated somewhat, and the tide being on the ebb, they got under way again, the girl coming on deck fully attired in an oilskin coat and sou’-wester to resume the command. The rain fell steadily as they ploughed along their way, guided by the bright eye of the “Mouse” as it shone across the darkening waters. The mate, soaked to the skin, was at the wheel.
“Why don’t you go below and put your oilskins on?” inquired the girl, when this fact dawned upon her.
“Don’t want ’em,” said the mate.
“I suppose you know best,” said the girl, and said no more until nine o’clock, when she paused at the companion to give her last orders for the night.
“I’m going to turn in,” said she; “call me at two o’clock. Good-night.”
“Good-night,” said the other, and the girl vanished.
Left to himself, the mate, who began to feel chilly, felt in his pockets for a pipe, and was in all the stress of getting a light, when he heard a thin, almost mild voice behind him, and, looking round, saw the face of the girl at the companion.