“That’s the only way out of it,” said the mate, after waiting in vain for them to say something.
“It’s a fairish size when you come to look at it,” said the skipper, putting his head on one side to see whether the bunk looked larger that way.
“Pack three in there at a pinch,” said the mate hardily.
Still the ladies said nothing, but there was a storm-signal hoisted in Mrs. Bunnett’s cheek, which boded no good to her husband. There was room only for one trunk in the state-room, and by prompt generalship Mrs. Fillson got hers in first. Having seen it safe she went up on deck, for a look round.
“George,” said Mrs. Bunnett fiercely, as soon as they were alone.
“Yes, my dear,” said her husband.
“Pack that woman off home,” said Mrs. Bunnett sharply.
“I couldn’t do that,” said the skipper firmly. “It’s your own fault; you should have said you was coming.”
“Oh, I know you didn’t want me to come,” said Mrs. Bunnett, the roses on her bonnet trembling. “The mate can think of a little pleasure for his wife, but I can stay at home and do your mending and keep the house clean. Oh, I know; don’t tell me.”
“Well, it’s too late to alter it,” said her husband. “I must get up above now; you’d better come too.”