“Bill’s stole our dinner, sir,” he panted unceremoniously.
“Who?” inquired the skipper coldly.
“Bill, sir, Bill Smith,” replied Ned.
“Who?” inquired the skipper more coldly than before.
“The ghost o’ Bill Smith,” growled Ned, correcting himself savagely, “has took our dinner away, an’ him an’ the ghost o’ Tommy Brown is a sitting down and boltin’ of it as fast as they can bolt.”
“Well, I don’t see what I can do,” said the skipper lazily. “What ’d you let ’em for?”
“You know what Bill is, sir,” said Ned. “I’m an old man, cook’s no good, and unless Simpson has a bit o’ raw beef for his eyes, he won’t be able to see for a week.”
“Rubbish!” said the skipper jocularly. “Don’t tell me, three men all afraid o’ one ghost. I shan’t interfere. Don’t you know what to do?”
“No, sir,” said Ned eagerly.
“Go up and read the Prayer-book to him, and he’ll vanish in a cloud of smoke,” said the skipper.