consultation, vainly trying to get to sleep, scratched his head, and
tried to think of a little strategy himself. He had glimmerings of it
before he fell asleep, but when he awoke next morning it flashed before
him in all the fulness of its matured beauty.

He went on deck smiling, and, leaning his arms on the side, gazed
contemplatively at George, who was sitting on the deck listening darkly
to the cook as that worthy read aloud from a newspaper.

"Anything interesting, cook?" demanded the mate.

"About George, sir," said the cook, stopping in his reading. "There's
pictures of 'im too."

He crossed to the side, and, handing the paper to the mate, listened
smilingly to the little ejaculations of surprise and delight of that
deceitful man as he gazed upon the likenesses. "Wonderful," he said
emphatically. "Wonderful. I never saw such a good likeness in my life,
George. That'll be copied in every newspaper in London, and here's the
name in full too--'George Cooper, schooner _John Henry_, now lying off
Limehouse.'"

He handed the paper back to the cook and turned away grinning as George,
unable to control himself any longer, got up with an oath and went below
to nurse his wrath in silence. A little later the mate of the brig,
after a very confidential chat with his own crew, lit his pipe and, with
a jaunty air, went ashore.

For the next hour or two George alternated between the fo'c'sle and the
deck, from whence he cast harassed glances at the busy wharves ashore.
The skipper, giving it as his own suggestion, acquainted him with the
arrangements made in case of the worst, and George, though he seemed
somewhat dubious about them, went below and put his bed in order.

"It's very unlikely she'll see that particular newspaper though," said
the skipper encouragingly.

"People are sure to see what you don't want 'em too," growled George.
"Somebody what knows us is sure to see it, an' show 'er."

"There's a lady stepping into a waterman's skiff now," said the skipper,
glancing at the stairs. "That wouldn't be her, I s'pose?"

He turned to the seaman as he spoke but the words had hardly left his
lips before George was going below and undressing for his part.

"If anybody asks for me," he said, turning to the cook, who was
regarding his feverish movements in much astonishment, "I'm dead."

"You're wot?" inquired the other.

"Dead," said George, "Dead. Died at ten o'clock this morning. D'ye
understand, fathead?"

"