“Now, my dears,” said the mate, waving his hand with a deprecatory gesture, “don’t be silly.”
“Don’t be what?” inquired the sensitive Miss Evans, raising her mop.
“You know what I mean,” said the mate hastily. “I can’t help myself.”
“Well, we’re going to help you,” said Miss Evans. “Turn the ship round.”
“You obey orders, Jack,” cried the skipper from aloft.
“It’s all very well for you sitting up there in peace and comfort,” said the mate indignantly. “I’m not going to be tarred to please you. Come down and take charge of your ship.”
“Do your duty, Jack,” said the skipper, who was polishing his face with a handkerchief. “They won’t touch you. They daren’t. They’re afraid to.”
“You’re egging ’em on,” cried the mate wrathfully. “I won’t steer; come and take it yourself.”
He darted behind the wheel as Miss Evans, who was getting impatient, made a thrust at him, and then, springing out, gained the side and rushed up the rigging after his captain. Biddle, who was standing close by, gazed earnestly at them and took the wheel.
“You won’t hurt old Biddle, I know,” he said, trying to speak confidently.