Many Cargoes

A CHANGE OF TREATMENT

Yes, I’ve sailed under some ‘cute skippers in my time,” said the night-watchman; “them that go down in big ships see the wonders o’ the deep, you know,” he added with a sudden chuckle, “but the one I’m going to tell you about ought never to have been trusted out without ‘is ma. A good many o’ my skippers had fads, but this one was the worst I ever sailed under.

“It’s some few years ago now; I’d shipped on his barque, the John Elliott, as slow-going an old tub as ever I was aboard of, when I wasn’t in quite a fit an’ proper state to know what I was doing, an’ I hadn’t been in her two days afore I found out his ‘obby through overhearing a few remarks made by the second mate, who came up from dinner in a hurry to make ‘em. ‘I don’t mind saws an’ knives hung round the cabin,’ he ses to the fust mate, ‘but when a chap has a ‘uman ‘and alongside ‘is plate, studying it while folks is at their food, it’s more than a Christian man can stand.’

“‘That’s nothing,’ ses the fust mate, who had sailed with the barque afore. ‘He’s half crazy on doctoring. We nearly had a mutiny aboard once owing to his wanting to hold a post-mortem on a man what fell from the mast-head. Wanted to see what the poor feller died of.’

“‘I call it unwholesome,’ ses the second mate very savage.’ He offered me a pill at breakfast the size of a small marble; quite put me off my feed, it did.’

“Of course, the skipper’s fad soon got known for’ard. But I didn’t think much about it, till one day I seed old Dan’l Dennis sitting on a locker reading. Every now and then he’d shut the book, an’ look up, closing ‘is eyes, an’ moving his lips like a hen drinking, an’ then look down at the book again.

“‘Why, Dan,’ I ses, ‘what’s up? you ain’t larning lessons at your time o’ life?’

“‘Yes, I am,’ ses Dan very soft. ‘You might hear me say it, it’s this one about heart disease.’

“He hands over the book, which was stuck full o’ all kinds o’ diseases, and winks at me ‘ard.

“‘Picked it up on a book-stall,’ he ses; then he shut ‘is eyes an’ said his piece wonderful. It made me quite queer to listen to ‘im. ‘That’s how I feel,’ ses he, when he’d finished. ‘Just strength enough to get to bed. Lend a hand, Bill, an’ go an’ fetch the doctor.’

“Then I see his little game, but I wasn’t going to run any risks, so I just mentioned, permiscous like, to the cook as old Dan seemed rather queer, an’ went back an’ tried to borrer the book, being always fond of reading. Old Dan pretended he was too ill to hear what I was saying, an’ afore I could take it away from him, the skipper comes hurrying down with a bag in his ‘and.

“‘What’s the matter, my man?’ ses he, ‘what’s the matter?’

“‘I’m all right, sir,’ ses old Dan, ‘cept that I’ve been swoonding away a little.’

“‘Tell me exactly how you feel,’ ses the skipper, feeling his pulse.

“Then old Dan said his piece over to him, an’ the skipper shook his head an’ looked very solemn.

“‘How long have you been like this?’ he ses.

“‘Four or five years, sir,’ ses Dan. ‘It ain’t nothing serious, sir, is it?’

“‘You lie quite still,’ ses the skipper, putting a little trumpet thing to his chest an’ then listening. ‘Um! there’s serious mischief here I’m afraid, the prognotice is very bad.’

“‘Prog what, sir?’ ses Dan, staring.

“‘Prognotice,’ ses the skipper, at least I think that’s the word he said. ‘You keep perfectly still, an’ I’ll go an’ mix you up a draught, and tell the cook to get some strong beef-tea on.’

“Well, the skipper ‘ad no sooner gone, than Cornish Harry, a great big lumbering chap o’ six feet two, goes up to old Dan, an’ he ses, ‘Gimme that book.’

“‘Go away,’ says Dan, ‘don’t come worrying ‘ere; you ‘eard the skipper say how bad my prognotice was.’

“‘You lend me the book,’ ses Harry, ketching hold of him, ‘or else I’ll bang you first, and split to the skipper arterwards. I believe I’m a bit consumptive. Anyway, I’m going to see.’

“He dragged the book away from the old man, and began to study. There was so many complaints in it he was almost tempted to have something else instead of consumption, but he decided on that at last, an’ he got a cough what worried the fo’c’sle all night long, an’ the next day, when the skipper came down to see Dan, he could ‘ardly ‘ear hisself speak.

“‘That’s a nasty cough you’ve got, my man,’ ses he, looking at Harry.

“‘Oh, it’s nothing, sir,’ ses Harry, careless like. ‘I’ve ‘ad it for months now off and on. I think it’s perspiring so of a night does it.”

“‘What?’ ses the skipper. ‘Do you perspire of a night?’

“‘Dredful,’ ses Harry. ‘You could wring the clo’es out. I s’pose it’s healthy for me, ain’t it, sir?’

“‘Undo your shirt,’ ses the skipper, going over to him, an’ sticking the trumpet agin him. ‘Now take a deep breath. Don’t cough.’

“‘I can’t help it, sir,’ ses Harry, ‘it will come. Seems to tear me to pieces.’

“‘You get to bed at once,” says the skipper, taking away the trumpet, an’ shaking his ‘ed. ‘It’s a fortunate thing for you, my lad, you’re in skilled hands. With care, I believe I can pull you round. How does that medicine suit you, Dan?’

“‘Beautiful, sir,’ says Dan. ‘It’s wonderful soothing, I slep’ like a new-born babe arter it.’

“‘I’ll send you some more,’ ses the skipper. ‘You’re not to get up mind, either of you.’

“‘All right, sir,’ ses the two in very faint voices, an’ the skipper went away arter telling us to be careful not to make a noise.

“We all thought it a fine joke at first, but the airs them two chaps give themselves was something sickening. Being in bed all day, they was naturally wakeful of a night, and they used to call across the fo’c’sle inquiring arter each other’s healths, an’ waking us other chaps up. An’ they’d swop beef-tea an’ jellies with each other, an’ Dan ‘ud try an’ coax a little port wine out o’ Harry, which he ‘ad to make blood with, but Harry ‘ud say he hadn’t made enough that day, an’ he’d drink to the better health of old Dan’s prognotice, an’ smack his lips until it drove us a’most crazy to ‘ear him.

“Arter these chaps had been ill two days, the other fellers began to put their heads together, being maddened by the smell o’ beef-tea an’ the like, an’ said they was going to be ill too, and both the invalids got into a fearful state of excitement.

“‘You’ll only spoil it for all of us,’ ses Harry, ‘and you don’t know what to have without the book.’

“‘It’s all very well doing your work as well as our own,’ ses one of the men. ‘It’s our turn now. It’s time you two got well.’

“‘WELL? ses Harry, ‘well? Why you silly iggernerant chaps, we shan’t never get well, people with our complaints never do. You ought to know that.’

“‘Well, I shall split, ‘ses one of them. “‘You do!’ ses Harry, ‘you do, an’ I’ll put a ‘ed on you that all the port wine and jellies in the world wouldn’t cure. ‘Sides, don’t you think the skipper knows what’s the matter with us?’

“‘Afore the other chap could reply, the skipper hisself comes down, accompanied by the fust mate, with a look on his face which made Harry give the deepest and hollowest cough he’d ever done.

“‘What they reely want,’ ses the skipper, turning to the mate, ‘is keerful nussing.’

“‘I wish you’d let me nuss ‘em,’ ses the fust mate, ‘only ten minutes—I’d put ‘em both on their legs, an’ running for their lives into the bargain, in ten minutes.’

“‘Hold your tongue, sir,’ ses the skipper; ‘what you say is unfeeling, besides being an insult to me. Do you think I studied medicine all these years without knowing when a man’s ill?’

“The fust mate growled something and went on deck, and the skipper started examining of ‘em again. He said they was wonderfully patient lying in bed so long, an’ he had ‘em wrapped up in bedclo’es and carried on deck, so as the pure air could have a go at ‘em. WE had to do the carrying, an’ there they sat, breathing the pure air, and looking at the fust mate out of the corners of their eyes. If they wanted anything from below one of us had to go an’ fetch it, an’ by the time they was taken down to bed again, we all resolved to be took ill too.

“Only two of ‘em did it though, for Harry, who was a powerful, ugly-tempered chap, swore he’d do all sorts o’ dreadful things to us if we didn’t keep well and hearty, an’ all ‘cept these two did. One of ‘em, Mike Rafferty, laid up with a swelling on his ribs, which I knew myself he ‘ad ‘ad for fifteen years, and the other chap had paralysis. I never saw a man so reely happy as the skipper was. He was up an down with his medicines and his instruments all day long, and used to make notes of the cases in a big pocket-book, and read ‘em to the second mate at mealtimes.

“The fo’c’sle had been turned into hospital about a week, an’ I was on deck doing some odd job or the other, when the cook comes up to me pulling a face as long as a fiddle.

“‘Nother invalid,’ ses he; ‘fust mate’s gone stark, staring mad!’

“‘Mad?’ ses I.

“‘Yes,’ ses he. ‘He’s got a big basin in the galley, an’ he’s laughing like a hyener an’ mixing bilge-water an’ ink, an’ paraffin an’ butter an’ soap an’ all sorts o’ things up together. The smell’s enough to kill a man; I’ve had to come away.’

“Curious-like, I jest walked up to the galley an’ puts my ‘ed in, an’ there was the mate as the cook said, smiling all over his face, and ladling some thick sticky stuff into a stone bottle.

“‘How’s the pore sufferers, sir?’ ses he, stepping out of the galley jest as the skipper was going by.

“‘They’re very bad; but I hope for the best,” ses the skipper, looking at him hard. ‘I’m glad to see you’ve turned a bit more feeling.’

“‘Yes, sir,’ ses the mate. ‘I didn’t think so at fust, but I can see now them chaps is all very ill. You’ll s’cuse me saying it, but I don’t quite approve of your treatment.’

“I thought the skipper would ha’ bust.

“‘My treatment?’ ses he. ‘My treatment? What do you know about it?’

“‘You’re treating ‘em wrong, sir,’ ses the mate. ‘I have here’ (patting the jar) ‘a remedy which ‘ud cure them all if you’d only let me try it.’

“‘Pooh!’ ses the skipper. ‘One medicine cure all diseases! The old story. What is it? Where’d you get it from?’ ses he.

“‘I brought the ingredients aboard with me,’ ses the mate. ‘It’s a wonderful medicine discovered by my grandmother, an’ if I might only try it I’d thoroughly cure them pore chaps.’

“‘Rubbish!’ ses the skipper.

“‘Very well, sir,’ ses the mate, shrugging his shoulders. ‘O’ course, if you won’t let me you won’t. Still I tell you, if you’d let me try I’d cure ‘em all in two days. That’s a fair challenge.’

“Well, they talked, and talked, and talked, until at last the skipper give way and went down below with the mate, and told the chaps they was to take the new medicine for two days, jest to prove the mate was wrong.

“‘Let pore old Dan try it first, sir,’ ses Harry, starting up, an’ sniffing as the mate took the cork out; ‘he’s been awful bad since you’ve been away.’

“‘Harry’s worse than I am, sir,’ ses Dan; ‘it’s only his kind heart that makes him say that.’

“‘It don’t matter which is fust,’ ses the mate, filling a tablespoon with it, ‘there’s plenty for all. Now, Harry.’

“‘Take it,’ ses the skipper.

“Harry took it, an’ the fuss he made you’d ha’ thought he was swallering a football. It stuck all round his mouth, and he carried on so dredful that the other invalids was half sick afore it came to them.

“By the time the other three ‘ad ‘ad theirs it was as good as a pantermime, an’ the mate corked the bottle up, and went an’ sat down on a locker while they tried to rinse their mouths out with the luxuries which had been given ‘em.

“‘How do you feel?’ ses the skipper.

“‘I’m dying,’ ses Dan.

“‘So’m I,’ ses Harry; ‘I b’leeve the mate’s pisoned us.”

“The skipper looks over at the mate very stern an’ shakes his ‘ed slowly.

“‘It’s all right,’ ses the mate. ‘It’s always like that the first dozen or so doses.’

“‘Dozen or so doses!’ ses old Dan, in a far-away voice.

“‘It has to be taken every twenty minutes,’ ses the mate, pulling out his pipe and lighting it; an’ the four men groaned all together.

“‘I can’t allow it,’ ses the skipper, ‘I can’t allow it. Men’s lives mustn’t be sacrificed for an experiment.’

“‘’T ain’t a experiment,’ ses the mate very indignant, ‘it’s an old family medicine.’

“‘Well, they shan’t have any more,’ ses the skipper firmly.

“‘Look here,’ ses the mate. ‘If I kill any one o’ these men I’ll give you twenty pound. Honour bright, I will.’

“‘Make it twenty-five,’ ses the skipper, considering.

“‘Very good,’ ses the mate. ‘Twenty-five; I can’t say no fairer than that, can I? It’s about time for another dose now.’

“He gave ‘em another tablespoonful all round as the skipper left, an’ the chaps what wasn’t invalids nearly bust with joy. He wouldn’t let ‘em have anything to take the taste out, ‘cos he said it didn’t give the medicine a chance, an’ he told us other chaps to remove the temptation, an’ you bet we did.

“After the fifth dose, the invalids began to get desperate, an’ when they heard they’d got to be woke up every twenty minutes through the night to take the stuff, they sort o’ give up. Old Dan said he felt a gentle glow stealing over him and strengthening him, and Harry said that it felt like a healing balm to his lungs. All of ‘em agreed it was a wonderful sort o’ medicine, an’ arter the sixth dose the man with paralysis dashed up on deck, and ran up the rigging like a cat. He sat there for hours spitting, an’ swore he’d brain anybody who interrupted him, an’ arter a little while Mike Rafferty went up and j’ined him, an’ it the fust mate’s ears didn’t burn by reason of the things them two pore sufferers said about ‘im, they ought to.

“They was all doing full work next day, an’ though, o’course, the skipper saw how he’d been done, he didn’t allude to it. Not in words, that is; but when a man tries to make four chaps do the work of eight, an’ hits ‘em when they don’t, it’s a easy job to see where the shoe pinches.”

A LOVE PASSAGE

The mate was leaning against the side of the schooner, idly watching a few red-coated linesmen lounging on the Tower Quay. Careful mariners were getting out their side-lights, and careless lightermen were progressing by easy bumps from craft to craft on their way up the river. A tug, half burying itself in its own swell, rushed panting by, and a faint scream came from aboard an approaching skiff as it tossed in the wash.

“JESSICA ahoy!” bawled a voice from the skiff as she came rapidly alongside.

The mate, roused from his reverie, mechanically caught the line and made it fast, moving with alacrity as he saw that the captain’s daughter was one of the occupants. Before he had got over his surprise she was on deck with her boxes, and the captain was paying off the watermen.

“You’ve seen my daughter Hetty afore, haven’t you?” said the skipper. “She’s coming with us this trip. You’d better go down and make up her bed, Jack, in that spare bunk.”

“Ay, ay,” said the mate dutifully, moving off.

“Thank you, I’ll do it myself,” said the scandalised Hetty, stepping forward hastily.

“As you please,” said the skipper, leading the way below. “Let’s have a light on, Jack.”

The mate struck a match on his boot, and lit the lamp.

“There’s a few things in there’ll want moving,” said the skipper, as he opened the door. “I don’t know where we’re to keep the onions now, Jack.”

“We’ll find a place for ‘em,” said the mate confidently, as he drew out a sack and placed it on the table.

“I’m not going to sleep in there,” said the visitor decidedly, as she peered in. “Ugh! there’s a beetle. Ugh!”

“It’s quite dead,” said the mate reassuringly. “I’ve never seen a live beetle on this ship.”

“I want to go home,” said the girl. “You’ve no business to make me come when I don’t want to.”

“You should behave yourself then,” said her father magisterially. “What about sheets, Jack; and pillers?”

The mate sat on the table, and, grasping his chin, pondered. Then as his gaze fell upon the pretty, indignant face of the passenger, he lost the thread of his ideas.

“She’ll have to have some o’ my things for the present,” said the skipper.

“Why not,” said the mate, looking up again—“why not let her have your state-room?”

“‘Cos I want it myself,” replied the other calmly.

The mate blushed for him, and, the girl leaving them to arrange matters as they pleased, the two men, by borrowing here and contriving there, made up the bunk. The girl was standing by the galley when they went on deck again, an object of curious and respectful admiration to the crew, who had come on board in the meantime. She stayed on deck until the air began to blow fresher in the wider reaches, and then, with a brief good-night to her father, retired below.

“She made up her mind to come with us rather suddenly, didn’t she?” inquired the mate after she had gone.

“She didn’t make up her mind at all,” said the skipper; “we did it for her, me an’ the missus. It’s a plan on our part.”

“Wants strengthening?” said the mate suggestively.

“Well, the fact is,” said the skipper, “it’s like this, Jack; there’s a friend o’ mine, a provision dealer in a large way o’ business, wants to marry my girl, and me an’ the missus want him to marry her, so, o’ course, she wants to marry someone else. Me an’ ‘er mother we put our ‘eads together and decided for her to come away. When she’s at ‘ome, instead o’ being out with Towson, direckly her mother’s back’s turned she’s out with that young sprig of a clerk.”

“Nice-looking young feller, I s’pose?” said the mate somewhat anxiously.

“Not a bit of it,” said the other firmly. “Looks as though he had never had a good meal in his life. Now my friend Towson, he’s all right; he’s a man of about my own figger.”

“She’ll marry the clerk,” said the mate, with conviction.

“I’ll bet you she don’t,” said the skipper. “I’m an artful man, Jack, an’ I, generally speaking, get my own way. I couldn’t live with my missus peaceable if it wasn’t for management.”

The mate smiled safely in the darkness, the skipper’s management consisting chiefly of slavish obedience.

“I’ve got a cabinet fortygraph of him for the cabin mantel-piece, Jack,” continued the wily father. “He gave it to me o’ purpose. She’ll see that when she won’t see the clerk, an’ by-and-bye she’ll fall into our way of thinking. Anyway, she’s going to stay here till she does.”

“You know your way about, cap’n,” said the mate, in pretended admiration.

The skipper laid his finger on his nose, and winked at the mainmast. “There’s few can show me the way, Jack,” he answered softly; “very few. Now I want you to help me too; I want you to talk to her a great deal.”

“Ay, ay,” said the mate, winking at the mast in his turn.

“Admire the fortygraph on the mantel-piece,” said the skipper.

“I will,” said the other.

“Tell her about a lot o’ young girls you know as married young middle-aged men, an’ loved ‘em more an’ more every day of their lives,” continued the skipper.

“Not another word,” said the mate. “I know just what you want. She shan’t marry the clerk if I can help it.”

The other turned and gripped him warmly by the hand. “If ever you are a father your elf, Jack,” he said with emotion, “I hope as how somebody’ll stand by you as you’re standing by me.”

The mate was relieved the next day when he saw the portrait of Towson. He stroked his moustache, and felt that he gained in good looks every time he glanced at it.

Breakfast finished, the skipper, who had been on deck all night, retired to his bunk. The mate went on deck and took charge, watching with great interest the movements of the passenger as she peered into the galley and hotly assailed the cook’s method of washing up.

“Don’t you like the sea?” he inquired politely, as she came and sat on the cabin skylight.

Miss Alsen shook her head dismally. “I’ve got to it,” she remarked.

“Your father was saying something to me about it,” said the mate guardedly.

“Did he tell the cook and the cabin boy too?” inquired Miss Alsen, flushing somewhat. “What did he tell you?”

“Told me about a man named Towson,” said the mate, becoming intent on the sails, “and—another fellow.”

“I took a little notice of HIM just to spoil the other,” said the girl, “not that I cared for him. I can’t understand a girl caring for any man. Great, clumsy, ugly things.”

“You don’t like him then?” said the mate.

“Of course not,” said the girl, tossing her head.

“And yet they ‘ve sent you to sea to get out of his way,” said the mate meditatively. “Well, the best thing you can do”—His hardihood failed him at the pitch.

“Go on,” said the girl.

“Well, it’s this way,” said the mate, coughing; “they’ve sent you to sea to get you out of this fellow’s way, so if you fall in love with somebody on the ship they’ll send you home again.”

“So they will,” said the girl eagerly. “I’ll pretend to fall in love with that nice-looking sailor you call Harry. What a lark!”

“I shouldn’t do that,” said the mate gravely.

“Why not?” said the girl.

“‘Tisn’t discipline,” said the mate very firmly; “it wouldn’t do at all. He’s before the mast.”

“Oh, I see,” remarked Miss Alsen, smiling scornfully.

“I only mean pretend, of course,” said the mate, colouring. “Just to oblige you.”

“Of course,” said the girl calmly. “Well, how are we to be in love?”

The mate flushed darkly. “I don’t know much about such things,” he said at length; “but we’ll have to look at each other, and all that sort of thing, you know.”

“I don’t mind that,” said the girl.

“Then we’ll get on by degrees,” said the other. “I expect we shall both find it come easier after a time.”

“Anything to get home again,” said the girl, rising and walking slowly away.

The mate began his part of the love-making at once, and, fixing a gaze of concentrated love on the object of his regard, nearly ran down a smack. As he had prognosticated, it came easy to him, and other well-marked symptoms, such as loss of appetite and a partiality for bright colours, developed during the day. Between breakfast and tea he washed five times, and raised the ire of the skipper to a dangerous pitch by using the ship’s butter to remove tar from his fingers.

By ten o’clock that night he was far advanced in a profound melancholy. All the looking had been on his side, and, as he stood at the wheel keeping the schooner to her course, he felt a fellow-feeling for the hapless Towson, His meditations were interrupted by a slight figure which emerged from the companion, and, after a moment’s hesitation, came and took its old seat on the skylight.

“Calm and peaceful up here, isn’t it?” said he, after waiting some time for her to speak. “Stars are very bright to-night.”

“Don’t talk to me,” said Miss Alsen snappishly.

“Why doesn’t this nasty little ship keep still? I believe it’s you making her jump about like this.”

“Me?” said the mate in amazement.

“Yes, with that wheel.”

“I can assure you “—began the mate.

“Yes, I knew you’d say so,” said the girl.

“Come and steer yourself,” said the mate; “then you’ll see.”

Much to his surprise she came, and, leaning limply against the wheel, put her little hands on the spokes, while the mate explained the mysteries of the compass. As he warmed with his subject he ventured to put his hands on the same spokes, and, gradually becoming more venturesome, boldly supported her with his arm every time the schooner gave a lurch.

“Thank you,” said Miss Alsen, coldly extricating herself, as the male fancied another lurch was coming. “Good-night.”

She retired to the cabin as a dark figure, which was manfully knuckling the last remnant of sleep from its eyelids, stood before the mate, chuckling softly.

“Clear night,” said the seaman, as he took the wheel in his great paws.

“Beastly,” said the mate absently, and, stifling a sigh, went below and turned in.

He lay awake for a few minutes, and then, well satisfied with the day’s proceedings, turned over and fell asleep. He was pleased to discover, when he awoke, that the slight roll of the night before had disappeared, and that there was hardly any motion on the schooner. The passenger herself was already at the breakfast-table.

“Cap’n’s on deck, I s’pose?” said the mate, preparing to resume negotiations where they were broken off the night before. “I hope you feel better than you did last night.”

“Yes, thank you,” said she.

“You’ll make a good sailor in time,” said the mate.

“I hope not,” said Miss Alsen, who thought it time to quell a gleam of peculiar tenderness plainly apparent in the mate’s eyes. “I shouldn’t like to be a sailor even if I were a man.”

“Why not?” inquired the other.

“I don’t know,” said the girl meditatively; “but sailors are generally such scrubby little men, aren’t they?”

“SCUBBY?” repeated the mate, in a dazed voice.

“I’d sooner be a soldier,” she continued; “I like soldiers—they’re so manly. I wish there was one here now.”

“What for?” inquired the mate, in the manner of a sulky schoolboy.

“If there was a man like that here now,” said Miss Alsen thoughtfully, “I’d dare him to mustard old Towson’s nose.”

“Do what?” inquired the astonished mate.

“Mustard old Towson’s nose,” said Miss Alsen, glancing lightly from the cruet-stand to the portrait.

The infatuated man hesitated a moment, and then, reaching over to the cruet, took out the spoon, and with a pale, determined face, indignantly daubed the classic features of the provision dealer. His indignation was not lessened by the behaviour of the temptress, who, instead of fawning upon him for his bravery, crammed her handkerchief to her mouth and giggled foolishly.

“Where’s father,” she said suddenly, as a step sounded above. “Oh, you will get it!”

She rose from her seat, and, standing aside to let her father pass, went on deck. The skipper sank on to a locker, and, raising the tea-pot, poured himself out a cup of tea, which he afterwards decanted into a saucer. He had just raised it to his lips, when he saw something over the rim of it which made him put it down again untasted, and stare blankly at the mantel-piece.

“Who the—what the—who the devil’s done this?” he inquired in a strangulated voice, as he rose and regarded the portrait.

“I did,” said the mate.

“You did?” roared the other. “You? What for?”

“I don’t know,” said the mate awkwardly. “Something seemed to come over me all of a sudden, and I felt as though I MUST do it.”

“But what for? Where’s the sense of it?” said the skipper.

The mate shook his head sheepishly.

“But what did you want to do such a monkey-trick FOR?” roared the skipper.

“I don’t know,” said the mate doggedly; “but it’s done, ain’t it? and it’s no good talking about it.”

The skipper looked at him in wrathful perplexity. “You’d better have advice when we get to port, Jack,” he said at length; “the last few weeks I’ve noticed you’ve been a bit strange in your manner. You go an’ show that ‘ed of yours to a doctor.”

The mate grunted, and went on deck for sympathy, but, finding Miss Alsen in a mood far removed from sentiment, and not at all grateful, drew off whistling. Matters were in this state when the skipper appeared, wiping his mouth.

“I’ve put another portrait on the mantel-piece, Jack,” he said menacingly; “it’s the only other one I’ve got, an’ I wish you to understand that if that only smells mustard, there’ll be such a row in this ‘ere ship that you won’t be able to ‘ear yourself speak for the noise.”

He moved off with dignity as his daughter, who had overheard the remark, came sidling up to the mate and smiled on him agreeably.

“He’s put another portrait there,” she said softly.

“You’ll find the mustard-pot in the cruet,” said the mate coldly.

Miss Alsen turned and watched her father as he went forward, and then, to the mate’s surprise, went below without another word. A prey to curiosity, but too proud to make any overture, he compromised matters by going and standing near the companion.

“Mate!” said a stealthy whisper at the foot of the ladder.

The mate gazed calmly out to sea.

“Jack!” said the girl again, in a lower whisper than before.

The mate went hot all over, and at once descended. He found Miss Alsen, her eyes sparkling, with the mustard-pot in her left hand and the spoon in her right, executing a war-dance in front of the second portrait.

“Don’t do it,” said the mate, in alarm.

“Why not?” she inquired, going within an inch of it.

“He’ll think it’s me,” said the mate.

“That’s why I called you down here,” said she; “you don’t think I wanted you, do you?”

“You put that spoon down,” said the mate, who was by no means desirous of another interview with the skipper.

“Shan’t!” said Miss Alsen.

The mate sprang at her, but she dodged round the table. He leaned over, and, catching her by the left arm, drew her towards him; then, with her flushed, laughing face close to his, he forgot everything else, and kissed her.

“Oh!” said Hetty indignantly.

“Will you give it to me now?” said the mate, trembling at his boldness.

“Take it,” said she. She leaned across the table, and, as the mate advanced, dabbed viciously at him with the spoon. Then she suddenly dropped both articles on the table and moved away, as the mate, startled by a footstep at the door, turned a flushed visage, ornamented with three streaks of mustard, on to the dumbfounded skipper.

“Sakes alive!” said that astonished mariner, as soon as he could speak; “if he ain’t a-mustarding his own face now—I never ‘card of such a thing in all my life. Don’t go near ‘im, Hetty. Jack!”

“Well,” said the mate, wiping his smarting face with his handkerchief.

“You’ve never been took like this before?” queried the skipper anxiously.

“O’course not,” said the mortified mate.

“Don’t you say o’course not to me,” said the other warmly, “after behaving like this. A straight weskit’s what you want. I’ll go an’ see old Ben about it. He’s got an uncle in a ‘sylum. You come up too, my girl.”

He went in search of Ben, oblivious of the fact that his daughter, instead of following him, came no farther than the door, where she stood and regarded her victim compassionately.

“I’m so sorry,” she said “Does it smart?”

“A little,” said the mate; “don’t you trouble about me.”

“You see what you get for behaving badly,” said Miss Alsen judicially.