“Of course not,” said Miss Evans emphatically.
“Tar don’t hurt,” explained Miss Williams.
“It’s good for you,” said the third lady positively. “One—two———”
“It’s no good,” said the mate as Ephraim came suddenly into the rigging; “you’ll have to give in.”
“I’m damned if I will,” said the infuriated skipper. Then an idea occurred to him, and puckering his face shrewdly he began to descend.
“All right,” he said shortly, as Miss Evans advanced to receive him. “I’ll go back.”
He took the wheel; the schooner came round before the wind, and the willing crew, letting the sheets go, hauled them in again on the port side.
“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?”