“It is a nice cabin,” said Miss Jewell, shifting an inch and a half nearer to the skipper. “I suppose poor Bert has to have his meals in that stuffy little place at the other end of the ship, doesn't he?”
“The fo'c'sle?” said the skipper, struggling between love and discipline. “Yes.”
The girl sighed, and the mate, who was listening at the skylight above, held his breath with anxiety. Miss Jewell sighed again and in an absent-minded fashion increased the distance between herself and companion by six inches.
“It's usual,” faltered the skipper.
“Yes, of course,” said the girl, coldly.
“But if Bert likes to feed here, he's welcome,” said the skipper, desperately, “and he can sleep aft, too. The mate can say what he likes.”
The mate rose and, walking forward, raised his clenched fists to heaven and availed himself of the permission to the fullest extent of a somewhat extensive vocabulary.
“Do you know what I think you are?” inquired Miss Jewell, bending towards him with a radiant face. “No,” said the other, trembling. “What?”
The girl paused. “It wouldn't do to tell you,” she said, in a low voice. “It might make you vain.”
“Do you know what I think you are?” inquired the skipper in his turn.