“Any other needle then,” said the skipper, trying to conceal his emotion.
“I don’t believe there’s such a thing aboard the ship,” said Ted, who had obeyed the mate’s thoughtful injunction. “Nor thread. I was only saying so to the mate yesterday.”
The skipper sank again to the lowest depths, waved him away, and then, getting on a corner of the locker, fell into a gloomy reverie.
“It’s a pity you do things in such a hurry,” said Tommy, sniffing vindictively. “You might have made sure of the needle before you spoiled my clothes. There’s two of us going about ridiculous now.”
The master of the Sarah Jane allowed this insolence to pass unheeded. It is in moments of deep distress that the mind of man, naturally reverting to solemn things, seeks to improve the occasion by a lecture. The skipper, chastened by suffering and disappointment, stuck his right hand in his pocket, after a lengthened search for it, and gently bidding the blanketed urchin in front of him to sit down, began:
“You see what comes of drink and cards,” he said mournfully. “Instead of being at the helm of my ship, racing all the other craft down the river, I’m skulkin’ down below here like—like”—
“Like an actress,” suggested Tommy.
The skipper eyed him all over. Tommy, unconscious of offence, met his gaze serenely.
“If,” continued the skipper, “at any time you felt like taking too much, and you stopped with the beer-mug half-way to your lips, and thought of me sitting in this disgraceful state, what would you do?”
“I dunno,” replied Tommy, yawning.