“Up aloft,” said the skipper, removing his hat.
“Don’t you give me none of your lies,” said the lady, as she scanned both masts closely.
“He’s dead,” said the skipper solemnly.
His visitor threw up her arms and staggered back. The cook was nearest, and, throwing his arms round her waist, he caught her as she swayed. The mate, who was of a sympathetic nature, rushed below for whisky, as she sank back on the hatchway, taking the reluctant cook with her.
“Poor thing,” said the skipper.
“Don’t ’old ’er so tight, cook,” said one of the men. “There’s no necessity to squeeze ’er.”
“Pat ’er ’ands,” said another.
“Pat ’em yourself,” said the cook brusquely, as he looked up and saw the delight of the crew of the Endeavour, who were leaning over their vessel’s side regarding the proceedings with much interest.
“Don’t leave go of me,” said the newly-made widow, as she swallowed the whisky, and rose to her feet.
“Stand by her, cook,” said the skipper authoritatively.