"What am _I_ to wear," said Tommy, beginning to blubber. "You didn't
think of that?"
"What are you to wear, you selfish young pig?" said the skipper sternly.
"Always thinking about yourself. Go and git some needles and thread, and
if there's any left over, and you're a good boy, I'll see whether I
can't make something for you out of the leavings."
"There ain't no needles here," whined Tommy, after a lengthened search.
"Go down the fo'c'sle and git the case of sail-makers' needles, then,"
said the skipper, "Don't let anyone see what you're after, an' some
thread."
"Well, why couldn't you let me go in my clothes before you cut 'em up,"
moaned Tommy. "I don't like going up in this blanket. They'll laugh at
me."
"You go at once!" thundered the skipper, and, turning his back on him,
whistled softly, and began to arrange the pieces of cloth.
"Laugh away, my lads," he said cheerfully, as an uproarious burst of
laughter greeted the appearance of Tommy on deck. "Wait a bit."
He waited himself for nearly twenty minutes, at the end of which time
Tommy, treading on his blanket, came flying down the companion-ladder,
and rolled into the cabin.
"There ain't a needle aboard the ship," he said solemnly, as he picked
himself up and rubbed his head.
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