to see Joe Bates throw down
a fine fat bloater in front of the now amiable Rupert. He covered the
distance between him-self and the dog in three bounds, and seizing it by
the neck, tore the fish from its eager jaws and held it aloft.

"I just caught 'im in the act!" he cried, as the mate came on deck.
"What did you give that to my dog for?" he inquired of the conscience
stricken Bates.

"I wanted to make friends with him," stammered the other.

"It's poisoned, you rascal, and you know it," said the skipper
vehemently.

"Wish I may die, sir," began Joe.

"That'll do," said the skipper harshly. "You've tried to poison my
dog."

"I ain't," said Joe firmly.

"You ain't been trying to kill 'im with a poisoned bloater?" demanded
the skipper.

"Certainly not, sir," said Joe. "I wouldn't do such a thing. I couldn't
if I tried."

"Very good then," said the skipper; "if it's all right you eat it, and
I'll beg your pardon."

"I ain't goin' to eat after a dog," said Joe, shuffling.

"The dog's as clean as you are," said the skipper. "I'd sooner eat after
him than you."

"Well, you eat it then, sir," said Bates desperately. "If it's poisoned
you'll die, and I'll be hung for it. I can't say no fairer than that,
can I?"

There was a slight murmur from the men, who stood by watching the
skipper with an air of unholy expectancy.

"Well, the boy shall eat it then," said the skipper, "Eat that bloater,
boy, and I'll give you sixpence."

The boy came forward slowly, and looking from the men to the skipper,
and from the skipper back to the men, began to whimper.

"If you think it's poisoned," interrupted the mate, "you oughtn't to
make the boy eat it. I don't like boys, but you must draw the line
somewhere."

"It's poisoned," said the skipper, shaking it at Bates, "and they
know it. Well, I'll keep it till we get to port, and then I'll have
it analysed. And it'll be a sorry day for you, Bates, when I hear it's
poisoned. A month's hard labour is what you'll get."

He turned away and went below with as much dignity as could be expected
of a man carrying a mangled herring, and placing it on a clean plate,
solemnly locked it up in his state-room.

For two days the crew heard no more about it, though the skipper's eyes
gleamed dangerously each time that they fell upon the shrinking Bates.
The weather was almost tropical, with not an air stirring, and the
_Arethusa_, bearing its dread secret still locked in its state-r