“Been having a swig at the bottle?” inquired Bill.
“Boy’s heel,” said Ned very shortly. “Get the hatch on.”
The hatch was replaced, and Bill and his fellow conspirator, treading quietly and not without some apprehension for the morrow, went below and turned in. Tommy, who had been at sea long enough to take things as he found them, curled up in the corner of the hold, and with his bottle as a pillow fell asleep.
It was not until eight o’clock next morning that the master of the Sunbeam discovered that he was a boy short. He questioned the cook as he sat at breakfast The cook, who was a very nervous man, turned pale, set the coffee-pot down with a thump which upset some of the liquor, and bolted up on deck. The skipper, after shouting for him in some of the most alluring swear words known on the high seas, went raging up on deck, where he found the men standing in a little knot, looking very ill at ease.
“Bill,” said the skipper uneasily, “what’s the matter with that damned cook?”
“’E’s ’ad a shock, sir,” said Bill, shaking his head; “we’ve all ’ad a shock.”
“You’ll have another in a minute,” said the skipper emotionally. “Where’s the boy?”
For a moment Bill’s hardihood forsook him, and he looked helplessly at his mates. In their anxiety to avoid his gaze they looked over the side, and a horrible fear came over the skipper. He looked at Bill mutely, and Bill held out a dirty piece of paper.
The skipper read it through in a state of stupefaction, then he handed it to the mate, who had followed him on deck. The mate read it and handed it back.
“It’s yours,” he said shortly.