“You come away at once,” said his wife, pushing his plate from him.
The mate got up with a sigh, and, meeting the look of horror-stricken commiseration in his captain’s eye, returned it with one of impotent rage.
“Use a larger knife, cap’n,” he said savagely, “You’ll swallow that little ’un one of these days.”
The skipper, with the weapon in question gripped in his fist, turned round and stared at him in petrified amazement.
“If I wasn’t the cap’n o’ this ship, George,” he said huskily, “an’ bound to set a good example to the men, I’d whop you for them words.”
“It’s all for your good, Captain Bunnett,” said Mrs. Fillson mincingly. “There was a poor old workhouse man I used to give a penny to some times, who would eat with his knife, and he choked himself with it.”
“Ay, he did that, and he hadn’t got a mouth half the size o’ yours,” said the mate warningly.
“Cap’n or no cap’n, crew or no crew,” said the skipper in a suffocating voice, “I can’t stand this. Come up on deck, George, and repeat them words.”
“Before the mate could accept the invitation, he was dragged back by his wife, while at the same time Mrs. Bunnett, with a frantic scream, threw her arms round her husband’s neck, and dared him to move.
“You wait till I get you ashore, my lad,” said the skipper threateningly.