“You’d choose,” said the girl scornfully; “dear me, what a pity you didn’t tell me before.”
“He’s a public-house loafer,” said the mate, meeting her eye angrily, “and about as bad as they make ’em; but I s’pose you’ll have your own way.”
“He won’t frighten me,” said the girl. “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you. Good evening.”
The mate stepped ashore with a small bundle, leaving the remainder of his possessions to go back to London with the barge. The girl watched his well-knit figure as it strode up the quay until it was out of sight, and then, inwardly piqued because he had not turned round for a parting glance, gave a little sigh, and went below to tea.
The docile and respectful behaviour of the new-comer was a pleasant change to the autocrat of the Osprey, and cargoes were worked out and in without an unpleasant word. They laid at the quay for two days, the new mate, whose home was at Ipswich, sleeping ashore, and on the morning of the third he turned up punctually at six o’clock, and they started on their return voyage.
“Well, you do know how to handle a craft,” said Lee admiringly, as they passed down the river. “The old boat seems to know it’s got a pretty young lady in charge.”
“Don’t talk rubbish,” said the girl austerely.
The new mate carefully adjusted his red necktie and smiled indulgently.
“Well, you’re the prettiest cap’n I’ve ever sailed under,” he said. “What do they call that red cap you’ve got on? Tam-o’-Shanter is it?”
“I don’t know,” said the girl shortly.