“Sha’n’t,” said Miss Evans bluntly. “You haven’t got enough on yours,” she said, turning to Miss Davies. “Don’t spoil the skipper for a ha’porth of tar.”
At this new version of an old saw they laughed joyously, and with mops dripping tar and paint on the deck, marched in military style up to the skipper, and halted in front of him, smiling wickedly.
Then the heart of the skipper waxed sore faint within him, and, with a wild yell, he summoned the trusty crew to his side.
The crew came on deck slowly, and casting furtive glances at the scene, pushed Ephraim Biddle to the front.
“Take those mops away from ’em,” said the skipper haughtily.
“Don’t you interfere,” said Miss Evans, looking at them over her shoulder.
“Else we’ll give you some,” said Miss Williams bloodthirstily.
“Take those mops away from ’em!” bawled the skipper, instinctively drawing back as Miss Evans made a pass at him.
“I don’t see as ’ow we can interfere, sir,” said Biddle with deep respect.
“What!” said the astonished skipper.