“He can’t be tight-laced without stays,” said Tommy scornfully. “You ought to know that.”
“Ho, can’t he,” said the other, discomfited. “You know too much for a young-un. Well, put a bit o’ line round ’im then.”
“We can’t wait for a line,” said Tommy, who was standing on tip-toe to tie the skipper’s bonnet on. “Now tie the scarf over his chin to hide his beard, and put this veil on. It’s a good job he ain’t got a moustache.”
The other complied, and then fell back a pace or two to gaze at his handiwork. “Strewth, though I sees it as shouldn’t, you look a treat!” he remarked complacently. “Now, young-un, take ’old of his arm. Go up the back streets, and if you see anybody looking at you, call ’im Mar.”
The two set off, after the man, who was a born realist, had tried to snatch a kiss from the skipper on the threshold. Fortunately for the success of the venture, it was pelting with rain, and, though a few people gazed curiously at the couple as they went hastily along, they were unmolested, and gained the wharf in safety, arriving just in time to see the schooner shoving off from the side.
At the sight the skipper held up his skirts and ran. “Ahoy!” he shouted. “Wait a minute.”
The mate gave one look of blank astonishment at the extraordinary figure, and then turned away; but at that moment the stern came within jumping distance of the wharf, and uncle and nephew, moved with one impulse leaped for it and gained the deck in safety.
“Why didn’t you wait when I hailed you?” demanded the skipper fiercely.
“How was I to know it was you?” inquired the mate surlily, as he realised his defeat. “I thought it was the Empress of Rooshia.”
The skipper stared at him dumbly.