In this spirit of mutual forbearance they entered
the Orwell, and ran swiftly up to Ipswich.
It was late in the afternoon when they arrived there, and the new
skipper, waiting only until they were made fast, went ashore, leaving
the mate in charge. She had been gone about an hour when a small
telegraph boy appeared, and, after boarding the barge in the unsafest
manner possible, handed him a telegram. The mate read it and his face
flushed. With even more than the curtness customary in language at a
halfpenny a word, it contained his dismissal.
"I've had a telegram from your father sacking me," he said to the girl,
as she returned soon after, laden with small parcels.
"Yes, I wired him to," she replied calmly. "I suppose you'll go NOW?"
"I'd rather go back to London with you," he said slowly.
"I daresay," said the girl. "As a matter of fact I wasn't really meaning
for you to go, but when you said you wouldn't I thought we'd see who was
master. I've shipped another mate, so you see I haven't lost much time."
"Who is he," inquired the mate.
"Man named Charlie Lee," replied the girl; "the foreman here told me of
him."
"He'd no business too," said the mate, frowning; "he's a loose fish;
take my advice now and ship somebody else. He's not at all the sort of
chap I'd choose for you to sail with.
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