“I never did steal a thing of anybody aft since I came aboard, ma’am. Do you think I’d be going into the cabin where I’ve no business, and risk being caught? I’m no fool. The captain told me all I had to do was to be a mermaid (may the Virgin forgive me), and he’d furnish the togs.”
“Do you mean to say that Captain Pitkin gave you those clothes?”
“He sent them to the fo’k’sl, ma’am, this very morning.”
“Would my brother do such a thing?” Rose asked herself, as she again took her way aft.
The captain was invisible. In fact, he had retired to his room, and was endeavoring to banish the present by a perusal of the fascinating adventures of D’Artagnan and his reckless companions. He was roused by a knock at the door, but before he could say “Come in,” his sister entered.
The captain took in the situation at a glance, and knew he was in for it. The years seemed to roll back, and as Rose marched him to the sofa he imagined himself a boy of ten, and the subject of well-merited chastisement. He made a full confession, asked to be forgiven, and swore never again to hold any intercourse with Neptune or his relatives. He could not help adding: “It was partly your fault, though, for if you hadn’t flounced out of the room at breakfast, I should have had a chance to ask for the use of the clothes. Are they completely ruined? Can’t they be washed?”
“Are they ruined? Do you suppose I will ever touch them again after that Mike has worn them? And have they not been in the forecastle?”
Rose whispered a single word in her brother’s ear. It was the name of a creature all mention of which is strictly tabood in good society; or, if referred to at all, it is usually between housewives exchanging confidences, and then only with bated breath. “I cannot name ’t but I shall offend,” and it suffices to say that it is a certain little animal which invariably inhabits ships’ forecastles, though on all well-regulated craft it never invades the cabin.
“Good heavens, Rose, I never thought of that,” replied the captain, looking serious. “But never mind, it can’t be helped, and you shall have what clothes you want in Buenos Ayres, if you can find anything to suit.”
Rose was fond of her brother—in her own way,—and his straight-forward confession mollified her considerably. She did not yet allow this to appear, however, but announced sternly: