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"If you don't go I'll take you," said the skipper, and he was about to rise to put his threat into execution when a shadow fell across the opening, and a voice, which thrilled him to the core, said softly, "Jemmy!" "Yes 'm?" said Jemmy languidly, as the skipper flattened himself in his bunk and drew the clothes over him. "How do you feel?" inquired Mrs. Harbolt. "Bad all over," said Jemmy.
"I don't think he's quite right in his head, 'cos he says he ought to have been buried instead of someone else. Oh!" The last word was almost a scream, for Mrs. Harbolt, staggering back, pinched him convulsively. "Jemmy!" she gasped, in a trembling voice, as she suddenly remembered certain mysterious hints thrown out by the mate. "Who is it?"
"Oh, don't come down, mum please don't." "Rubbish!" said Mrs. Harbolt tartly, as she came slowly and carefully down backwards. "What a dark hole this is, Jemmy. No wonder you're ill. Put your tongue out." Jemmy complied. "I can't see properly here," murmured the lady, "but it looks very large. S'pose you go in the other bunk, Jemmy.
"The CAPTAIN!" said Jemmy, and, breaking from her clasp, slipped from his bed and darted hastily on deck, just as the pallid face of his commander broke through the blankets and beamed anxiously on his wife. Five minutes later, as the crew gathered aft were curiously eyeing the foc's'le, Mrs. Harbolt and the skipper came on deck.
For the next two days the wind was against them, and they made but little progress. Mrs. Harbolt spent most of her time on deck, thereby confining her husband to his evil-smelling quarters below. Matters were not improved for him by his treatment of the crew, who, resenting his rough treatment of them, were doing their best to starve him into civility.
It's a good bit higher than this, and you'd get more air and be more comfortable altogether." "Joe wouldn't like it, mum," said the boy anxiously. The last glimpse he had had of the skipper's face did not make him yearn to share his bed with him. "Stuff an' nonsense!" said Mrs. Harbolt hotly. "Who's Joe, I'd like to know? Out you come." "I can't move, mum," said Jemmy firmly.
"He he didn't want nothing to eat," said Jemmy, with a woeful disregard for facts. "What's the matter with him?" inquired Mrs. Harbolt, eyeing the bunk curiously. "What's his name? Who is he?" "He's been lost a long time," said Jemmy, "and he's forgotten who he is he's a oldish man with a red face an' a little white whisker all round it a very nice-looking man, I mean," he interposed hurriedly.
"You ain't dead, then?" said the mate, taking no notice of this unreasonable remark, "Where've you been all this long time?" "No more than you're master o' this 'ere ship," replied Mr. Harbolt grimly. "I I've been a bit queer in the stomach, an' I took a little drink to correct it. Foolish like, I took the wrong drink, and it must have got into my head."
"Nonsense!" said the lady. "I'll just put it straight for you first, then in it you go." "No, don't, mum," shouted Jemmy, now thoroughly alarmed at the success of his plot. "There, there's a gentleman in that bunk. A gentleman we brought from London for a change of sea air." "My goodness gracious!" ejaculated the surprised Mrs. Harbolt. "I never did. Why, what's he had to eat?"
Harbolt was later in retiring than usual, and it was nearly midnight before the skipper, who had been indignantly waiting for her to go, was able to get on deck and hold counsel with the mate. "I've done what I could for you," said the latter, fishing a crust from his pocket, which Harbolt took thankfully.
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