"It's good for you," said the third lady positively. "One--two------"

"It's no good," said the mate as Ephraim came suddenly into the rigging; "you'll have to give in.

"I'm---- if I will," said the infuriated skipper.

Then an idea occurred to him, and puckering his face shrewdly he began to descend.

"All right," he said shortly, as Miss Evans advanced to receive him.

"I'll go back."

He took the wheel; the schooner came round before the wind, and the willing crew, letting the sheets go, hauled them in again on the port side.

"And now, my lads," said the skipper with a benevolent smile, "just clear that mess up off the decks, and you may as well pitch them mops overboard. They'll never be any good again."

He spoke carelessly, albeit his voice trembled a little, but his heart sank within him as Miss Evans, with a horrible contortion of her pretty face, intended for a wink, waved them back.

"You stay where you are," she said imperiously, "we'll throw them overboard--when we've done with them. What did you say, Captain?"

The skipper was about to repeat it with great readiness when Miss Evans raised her trusty mop. The words died away on his lips, and after a hopeless glance from his mate to the crew and from the crew to the rigging, he accepted his defeat, and in grim silence took them home again.

PICKLED HERRING

There was a sudden uproar on deck, and angry shouts accompanied by an incessant barking; the master of the brig _Arethusa_ stopped with his knife midway to his mouth, and exchanging glances with the mate, put it down and rose to his feet.

"They're chevying that poor animal again," he said hotly. "It's scandalous."

"Rupert can take care of himself," said the mate calmly, continuing his meal. "I expect, if the truth's known, it's him's been doin' the chevying."

"You're as bad as the rest of 'em," said the skipper angrily, as a large brown retriever came bounding into the cabin. "Poor old Rube! what have they been doin' to you?"

The dog, with a satisfied air, sat down panting by his chair, listening quietly to the subdued hub-bub which sounded from the companion.

"Well, what is it?" roared the skipper, patting his favourite's head.

"It's that blasted dawg, sir," cried an angry voice from above. "Go down and show 'im your leg, Joe."

"An 'ave another lump took out of it, I s'pose," said another voice sourly. "Not me."

"I don't want to look at no legs while I'm at dinner," cried the skipper. "O' course the dog'll bite you if you've been teasing him."

"There's n.o.body been teasing 'im," said the angry voice again. "That's the second one 'e's bit, and now Joe's goin' to have 'im killed--ain't you, Joe?"

Joe's reply was not audible, although the infuriated skipper was straining his ears to catch it.

"Who's going to have the dog killed?" he demanded, going up on deck, while Rupert, who evidently thought he had an interest in the proceedings, followed un.o.btrusively behind.

"I am, sir," said Joe Bates, who was sitting on the hatch while the cook bathed an ugly wound in his leg. "A dog's only allowed one bite, and he's 'ad two this week."

"He bit me on Monday," said the seaman who had spoken before. "Now he's done for hisself."

"Hold your tongue!" said the skipper angrily. "You think you know a lot about the law, Sam Clark; let me tell you a dog's ent.i.tled to have as many bites as ever he likes, so as he don't bite the same person twice."

"That ain't the way I've 'eard it put afore," said Clark, somewhat taken back.

"He's the cutest dog breathing," said the skipper fondly, "and he knows all about it. He won't bite either of you again."

"And wot about them as 'asn't been bit yet, sir?" inquired the cook.

"Don't halloo before you're hurt," advised the skipper. "If you don't tease him he won't bite you."

He went down to his dinner, followed by the sagacious Rupert, leaving the hands to go forward again, and to mutinously discuss a situation which was becoming unbearable.

"It can't go on no longer, Joe," said Clark firmly; "this settles it."

"Where is the stuff?" inquired the cook in a whisper.

"In my chest," said Clark softly. "I bought It the night he bit me."

"It's a risky thing to do," said Bates.

"'Ow risky?" asked Sam scornfully. "The dog eats the stuff and dies.

Who's going to say what he died of? As for suspicions, let the old man suspect as much as he likes. It ain't proof."

The stronger mind had its way, as usual, and the next day the skipper, coming quietly on deck, was just in time to see Joe Bates throw down a fine fat bloater in front of the now amiable Rupert. He covered the distance between him-self and the dog in three bounds, and seizing it by the neck, tore the fish from its eager jaws and held it aloft.

"I just caught 'im in the act!" he cried, as the mate came on deck.

"What did you give that to my dog for?" he inquired of the conscience stricken Bates.

"I wanted to make friends with him," stammered the other.

"It's poisoned, you rascal, and you know it," said the skipper vehemently.

"Wish I may die, sir," began Joe.

"That'll do," said the skipper harshly. "You've tried to poison my dog."

"I ain't," said Joe firmly.

"You ain't been trying to kill 'im with a poisoned bloater?" demanded the skipper.

"Certainly not, sir," said Joe. "I wouldn't do such a thing. I couldn't if I tried."

"Very good then," said the skipper; "if it's all right you eat it, and I'll beg your pardon."

"I ain't goin' to eat after a dog," said Joe, shuffling.