“They’re all like it,” said the skipper; “mine’s just as bad. What does that boy want?”
The boy approached the edge of the jetty, and, peering down at them, answered for himself.
“Who’s Captain Bunnett?” he demanded shrilly.
“That’s me, my lad,” said the skipper, looking up.
“I’ve got a letter for yer,” said the boy, holding it out.
The skipper held out his hands and caught it; and, after reading the contents, felt his beard and looked at the mate.
“It never rains but it pours,” he said figuratively.
“What’s up?” inquired the other.
“’Ere’s my old woman coming now,” said the skipper. “Sent a note to say she’s getting ready as fast as she can, an’ I’m not to sail on any account till she comes.”
“That’s awkward,” said the mate, who felt that he was expected to say something.