rected to a small rug in
the corner of the foc's'le, the skipper took his bunk and was soon fast
asleep.

He slept so soundly that the noise of the vessel getting under way
failed to rouse him, and she was well out in the open river when he
awoke, and after cautiously protruding his head through the scuttle,
ventured on deck. For some time he stood eagerly sniffing the cool,
sweet air, and then, after a look round, gingerly approached the mate,
who was at the helm.

"Give me a hold on her," said he.

"You had better get below again, if you don't want the missis to see
you," said the mate. "She's gettin' up--nasty temper she's in too."

The skipper went forward grumbling. "Send down a good breakfast,
George," said he.

To his great discomfort the mate suddenly gave a low whistle, and
regarded him with a look of blank dismay.

"Good gracious!" he cried, "I forgot all about it. Here's a pretty
kettle of fish--well, well."

"Forgot about what?" asked the skipper uneasily.

"The crew take their meals in the cabin now," replied the mate, "'cos
the missis says it's more cheerful for 'em, and she's l'arning 'em to
eat their wittles properly."

The skipper looked at him aghast. "You'll have to smuggle me up some
grub," he said at length. "I'm not going to starve for nobody."

"Easier said than done," said the mate. "The missis has got eyes like
needles; still, I'll do the best I can for you. Look out! Here she
comes."

The skipper fled hastily, and, safe down below, explained to the crew
how they were to secrete portions of their breakfast for his benefit.
The amount of explanation required for so simple a matter was
remarkable, the crew manifesting a denseness which irritated him almost
beyond endurance. They promised, however, to do the best they could for
him, and returned in triumph after a hearty meal, and presented their
enraged commander with a few greasy crumbs and the tail of a bloater.

For the next two days the wind was against them, and they made but
little progress. Mrs. Harbolt spent most of her time on deck, thereby
confining her husband to his evil-smelling quarters below. Matters were
not improved for him by his treatment of the crew, who, resenting
his rough treatment of them, were doing their best to starve him into
civility. Most of the time he kept in his bunk--or rather Jemmy's
bunk--a prey to despondency and hunger of an acute type, venturing on
deck only at night to prowl uneasily about an