Captain Fazackerly, who had a doglike faith in his friend, followed him into the street and on to his barque. In a general way he experienced a social rise when he entered the commodious cabin of that noble craft, and his face grew in importance as his host, after motioning him to a seat, placed a select array of writing materials before him.
“I s’pose I’ve got to do it,” he said slowly.
“Of course you have,” said Tweedie, rolling his cigar between his thin lips; “you’ve got orders to do so, haven’t you? We must all obey those above us. What would you do if one of your men refused to obey an order of yours?”
“Hit him in the face,” said Captain Fazackerly with simple directness.
“Just so,” said Tweedie, who was always ready to impart moral teaching. “And when your governor asks for a disbursement sheet you’ve got to give him one. Now, then, head that paper—Voyage of the Sarah Ann, 180 tons register, Garston Docks to Limerick.”
The captain squared his elbows, and, for a few seconds, nothing was heard but his stertorous breathing and the scratching of the pen; then a muttered execration, and Captain Fazackerly put down his pen with a woebegone air.
“What’s the matter?” said Tweedie.
“I’ve spelt register without the ‘d,’” said the other; “that’s what comes o’ being worried.”
“It don’t matter,” said Tweedie hastily. “Now what about stores? Wait a bit, though; of course ye repaired your side-lamps before starting?”
“Lor’, no!” said Captain Fazackerly, staring; “what for? They were all right.”