“I say, are these your oilskins I’ve been wearing?” she demanded awkwardly.
“You’re quite welcome,” said the mate.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” said the girl indignantly. “I wouldn’t have worn them for anything if I had known it.”
“Well, they won’t poison you,” said the mate resentfully. “Your father left his at Ipswich to have ’em cobbled up a bit.”
The girl passed them up on the deck, and, closing the companion with a bang, disappeared. It is possible that the fatigues of the day had been too much for her, for when she awoke, and consulted the little silver watch that hung by her bunk, it was past five o’clock, and the red glow of the sun was flooding the cabin as she arose and hastily dressed.
The deck was drying in white patches as she went above, and the mate was sitting yawning at the wheel, his eyelids red for want of sleep.
“Didn’t I tell you to call me at two o’clock?” she demanded, confronting him.
“It’s all right,” said the mate. “I thought when you woke would be soon enough. You looked tired.”
“I think you’d better go when we get to Ipswich,” said the girl, tightening her lips. “I’ll ship somebody who’ll obey orders.”
“I’ll go when we get back to London,” said the mate. “I’ll hand this barge over to the cap’n, and nobody else.”