“It ’ud make a little difference,” said Ned cautiously.
The skipper looked up at Simpson. On the face of Simpson was an expression of virtuous arithmetical determination.
The skipper looked down again. “Or a fi’pun note each?” he said, in a low voice. “I can’t go beyond that.”
“Call it twenty pun and it’s a bargain, ain’t it, mates?” said Simpson.
Ned said it was, and even the cook forgot his nervousness, and said it was evident the skipper meant to do the generous thing, and they’d stand by him.
“Where’s the money coming from?” inquired the mate, as the skipper went down to breakfast, and discussed the matter with him. “They wouldn’t get nothing out of me!”
The skylight was open; the skipper with a glance at it bent forward and whispered in his ear.
“Wot!” said the mate. He endeavoured to suppress his laughter with hot coffee and bacon, with the result that he had to rise from his seat and stand patiently while the skipper dealt him some hearty thumps on the back.
With the prospect of riches before them the men cheerfully faced the extra work; the cook did the boy’s, while Ned and Simpson did Bill’s between them. When night came they removed the hatch again, and with a little curiosity waited to hear how their victims were progressing.
“Where’s my dinner?” growled Bill hungrily, as he drew himself up on deck.