"You can't do it," said the mate firmly.
"Can't do it?" queried the skipper.
"Not a bit of it," said the other. "They've all got it bad, an' the more
you get at 'em the wuss they'll be. Mark my words, best let 'em alone."
"I'll hold my hand a bit and watch 'em," was the reply; "but I've always
been cap'n on my own ship, and I always will."
For the next twenty-four hours he retained his sovereignty undisputed,
but on Sunday morning, after breakfast, when he was at the wheel, and
the crew below, the mate, who had been forward, came aft with a strange
grin struggling for development at the corners of his mouth.
"What's the matter?" inquired the skipper, regarding him with some
disfavour.
"They're all down below with their red jerseys on," replied the mate,
still struggling, "and they're holding a sort o' consultation about the
lost lamb, an' the best way o' reaching 'is 'ard 'eart."
"Lost lamb!" repeated the skipper unconcernedly, but carefully avoiding
the other's eye.
"You're the lost lamb," said the mate, who always went straight to the
point.
"I won't have it," said the skipper excitably. "How dare they go on in
this way? Go and send 'em up directly,"
The mate, whistling cheerily, complied, and the four men, neatly attired
in scarlet, came on deck.
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