"
"No, don't, mum," shouted Jemmy, now thoroughly alarmed at the success
of his plot. "There, there's a gentleman in that bunk. A gentleman we
brought from London for a change of sea air."
"My goodness gracious!" ejaculated the surprised Mrs. Harbolt. "I never
did. Why, what's he had to eat?"
"He--he--didn't want nothing to eat," said Jemmy, with a woeful
disregard for facts.
"What's the matter with him?" inquired Mrs. Harbolt, eyeing the bunk
curiously. "What's his name? Who is he?"
"He's been lost a long time," said Jemmy, "and he's forgotten who he is--
he's a oldish man with a red face an' a little white whisker all round
it--a very nice-looking man, I mean," he interposed hurriedly. "I don't
think he's quite right in his head, 'cos he says he ought to have been
buried instead of someone else. Oh!"
The last word was almost a scream, for Mrs. Harbolt, staggering back,
pinched him convulsively.
"Jemmy!" she gasped, in a trembling voice, as she suddenly remembered
certain mysterious hints thrown out by the mate. "Who is it?"
"The CAPTAIN!" said Jemmy, and, breaking from her clasp, slipped from
his bed and darted hastily on deck, just as the pallid face of his
commander broke through the blankets and beamed anxiously on his wife.
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