“E’s the best cap’n I ever sailed under,” he said slowly. “Ain’t it struck you, sir, he’s been worried like these ’ere last few trips? I told ’im as ’e was goin’ ashore as there was sea-pie for dinner, and ’e ses, ‘All right, Joe’ ’e ses, just as if I’d said boiled beef and taters, or fine mornin’, sir, or anythink like that!”
The mate shook his head, blew out a cloud of smoke and watched it lazily as it disappeared.
“It strikes me as ’ow ’e’sarter fresh cargo or something,” said a stout old seaman who had joined the cook. “Look ’ow ’e’s dressing nowadays! Why, the cap’n of a steamer ain’t smarter!”
“Not so smart, Sam,” said the remaining seaman, who, encouraged by the peaceful aspect of the mate had also drawn near. “I don’t think it’s cargo he’s after, though—cement pays all right.”
“It ain’t cargo,” said a small but confident voice.
“You clear out!” said old Sam. “A boy o’ your age shovin’ his spoke in when ’is elders is talkin’! What next, I wonder!”
“Where am I to clear to? I’m my own end of the ship anyway,” said the youth vindictively.
The men started to move, but it was too late. The mate’s latent sense of discipline was roused and he jumped up in a fury.
“My——!” he said, “if there ain’t the whole blasted ship’s company aft—every man Jack of ’em! Come down in the cabin, gentlemen, come down and have a drop of Hollands and a cigar apiece. All the riffraff o’ the foc’sle sitting aft and prattling about the skipper like a parcel o’ washerwomen. And smoking, by—! smoking! Well, when the skipper comes aboard he’ll have to get a fresh crew or a fresh mate. I’m sick of it. Why, it might be a barge for all the discipline that’s kept! The boy’s the only sailor among you.”
He strode furiously up and down the deck; the cook disappeared into the galley, and the two seamen began to bustle about forward. The small expert who had raised the storm, by no means desirous of being caught in the tail of it, put his pipe in his pocket and looked round for a job.