Things always go
wrong when I'm not here to look after them."
"You ain't dead, then?" said the mate, taking no notice of this
unreasonable remark, "Where've you been all this long time?"
"No more than you're master o' this 'ere ship," replied Mr. Harbolt
grimly. "I--I've been a bit queer in the stomach, an' I took a little
drink to correct it. Foolish like, I took the wrong drink, and it must
have got into my head."
"That's the worst of not being used to it," said the mate, without
moving a muscle.
The skipper eyed him solemnly, but the mate stood firm.
"Arter that," continued the skipper, still watching him suspiciously, "I
remember no more distinctly until this morning, when I found myself
sitting on a step down Poplar way and shiverin', with the morning
newspaper and a crowd round me."
"Morning newspaper!" repeated the mystified mate. "What was that for?"
"Decency. I was wrapped up in it," replied the skipper. "Where I came
from or how I got there I don't know more than Adam. I s'pose I must
have been ill; I seem to remember taking something out of a bottle
pretty often. Some old gentleman in the crowd took me into a shop and
bought me these clothes, an' here I am. My own clo'es and thirty pounds
o' freight money I had in my pocket is all gone.
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