I thought the skipper
'ud have killed him; but the second mate held him back, an', of course,
when things quieted down a bit, an' we went to the side, we found the
sea-sarpint had vanished.
"We stayed there all that night, but it warn't no use. When day broke
there wasn't the slightest trace of it, an' I think the men was as sorry
to lose it as the officers. All 'cept Joe, that is, which shows how
people should never be rude, even to the humblest; for I'm sartin that
if the skipper hadn't hurt his feelings the way he did we should now
know as much about the sea-sarpint as we do about our own brothers."
MRS. BUNKER'S CHAPERON
Matilda stood at the open door of a house attached to a wharf situated
in that dreary district which bears the high-sounding name of "St.
Katharine's."
Work was over for the day. A couple of unhorsed vans were pushed up the
gangway by the side of the house, and the big gate was closed. The
untidy office which occupied the ground-floor was deserted, except for a
grey-bearded "housemaid" of sixty, who was sweeping it through with a
broom, and indulging in a few sailorly oaths at the choking qualities of
the dust he was raising.
The sound of advancing footsteps stopped at the gate, a small flap-door
let in it flew open, and Matilda Bunker's open countenance took a
pinkish hue, as a small man in jersey and blue coat, with a hard round
hat exceeding high in the crown, stepped inside.
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