"I've looked everywhere."
"What?" roared the skipper, hastily concealing the pieces of cloth.
"Here, Ted! Ted!"
"Ay, ay, sir!" said Ted, as he came below.
"I want a sail-maker's needle," said the skipper glibly. "I've got a
rent in this skirt."
"I broke the last one yesterday," said Ted, with an evil grin.
"Any other needle then," said the skipper, trying to conceal his
emotion.
"I don't believe there's such a thing aboard the ship," said Ted, who
had obeyed the mate's thoughtful injunction. "NOR thread. I was only
saying so to the mate yesterday."
The skipper sank again to the lowest depths, waved him away, and then,
getting on a corner of the locker, fell into a gloomy reverie.
"It's a pity you do things in such a hurry," said Tommy, sniffing
vindictively. "You might have made sure of the needle before you spoiled
my clothes. There's two of us going about ridiculous now."
The master of the Sarah Jane allowed this insolence to pass unheeded. It
is in moments of deep distress that the mind of man, naturally reverting
to solemn things, seeks to improve the occasion by a lecture. The
skipper, chastened by suffering and disappointment, stuck his right hand
in his pocket, after a lengthened search for it, and gently bidding the
blanketed urchin in front of him to sit down, began:
"You see what comes of drink and cards," he said mournfully.
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