“I've got something on my mind,” said Mr. Heard, with a diabolical glance at the mate—“something wot's been worrying me for a long time. I've been deceiving you.”
“That was always your failing, Arthur—deceit-fulness,” said Mrs. Smith. “I remember—”
“We've both been deceiving you,” interrupted Mr. Heard, loudly. “I didn't jump into the harbor the other night, and I didn't tumble in, and Mr. Fred Dix didn't jump in after me; we just went to the end of the harbor and walked in and wetted ourselves.”
There was a moment's intense silence and all eyes turned on the mate. The latter met them boldly.
“It's a habit o' mine to walk into the water and spoil my clothes for the sake of people I've never met before,” he said, with a laugh.
“For shame, Arthur!” said Mr. Smith, with a huge sigh of relief.
“'Ow can you?” said Mrs. Smith.
“Arthur's been asleep since then,” said the mate, still smiling. “All the same, the next time he jumps in he can get out by himself.”
Mr. Heard, raising his voice, entered into a minute description of the affair, but in vain. Mr. Smith, rising to his feet, denounced his ingratitude in language which was seldom allowed to pass unchallenged in the presence of his wife, while that lady contributed examples of deceitfulness in the past of Mr. Heard, which he strove in vain to refute, Meanwhile, her daughter patted the mate's hand.
“It's a bit too thin, Arthur,” said the latter, with a mocking smile; “try something better next time.”