"Fust time I've heard of 'em," murmured the mate softly; "but I s'pose
you've been using pint pots too."
The skipper glared at him scornfully, but, being unprovided with a
retort, forbore to reply, and going below again mixed himself a stiff
glass of grog, and drank success to his scheme.
Three days passed, and the men stood firm, and, realising that they were
slowly undermining the skipper's convictions, made no effort to carry
him by direct assault. The mate made no attempt to conceal his opinion
of his superior's peril, and in gloomy terms strove to put the full
horror of his position before him.
"What your missis'll say the first time she sees you prancing up an'
down the road tapping a tambourine, I can't think," said he.
"I shan't have no tambourine," said Captain Bowers cheerfully.
"It'll also be your painful dooty to stand outside your father-in-law's
pub and try and persuade customers not to go in," continued Bob. "Nice
thing that for a quiet family!"
The skipper smiled knowingly, and, rolling a cigar in his mouth, leaned
back in his seat and cocked his eye at the skylight.
"Don't you worry, my lad," said he; "don't you worry. I'm in this job,
an' I'm coming out on top. When men forget what's due to their betters,
and preach to 'em, they've got to be taught what's what.
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