“And now, my lads,” said the skipper with a benevolent smile, “just clear that mess up off the decks, and you may as well pitch them mops overboard. They’ll never be any good again.”
He spoke carelessly, albeit his voice trembled a little, but his heart sank within him as Miss Evans, with a horrible contortion of her pretty face, intended for a wink, waved them back.
“You stay where you are,” she said imperiously, “we’ll throw them overboard—when we’ve done with them. What did you say, Captain?”
The skipper was about to repeat it with great readiness when Miss Evans raised her trusty mop. The words died away on his lips, and after a hopeless glance from his mate to the crew and from the crew to the rigging, he accepted his defeat, and in grim silence took them home again.
PICKLED HERRING
There was a sudden uproar on deck, and angry shouts accompanied by an incessant barking; the master of the brig Arethusa stopped with his knife midway to his mouth, and exchanging glances with the mate, put it down and rose to his feet.
“They’re chevying that poor animal again,” he said hotly. “It’s scandalous.”
“Rupert can take care of himself,” said the mate calmly, continuing his meal. “I expect, if the truth’s known, it’s him’s been doin’ the chevying.”
“You’re as bad as the rest of ’em,” said the skipper angrily, as a large brown retriever came bounding into the cabin. “Poor old Rube! what have they been doin’ to you?”
The dog, with a satisfied air, sat down panting by his chair, listening quietly to the subdued hub-bub which sounded from the companion.