“I suppose you’ve heard that my son is going to get married?” said the latter.

“I couldn’t help hearing of it, sir,” said the steward in self defence—­ “nobody could.”

“He’s going to marry that yellow-headed Jezebel of Kybird’s,” said the captain, staring at the fire.

Mr. Wilks murmured that he couldn’t understand anybody liking yellow hair, and, more than that, the general opinion of the ladies in Fullalove Alley was that it was dyed.

“I’m going to ship him on the Seabird,” continued the captain.  “She’ll probably be away for a year or two, and, in the meantime, this girl will probably marry somebody else.  Especially if she doesn’t know what has become of him.  He can’t get into mischief aboard ship.”

“No, sir,” said the wondering Mr. Wilks.  “Is Master Jack agreeable to going, sir?”

“That’s nothing to do with it,” said the captain, sharply.

“No, sir,” said Mr. Wilks, “o’ course not.  I was only a sort o’ wondering how he was going to be persuaded to go if ’e ain’t.”

“That’s what I came here about,” said the other.  “I want you to go and fix it up with Nathan Smith.”

“Do you want ’im to be crimped, sir?” stammered Mr. Wilks.

“I want him shipped aboard the Seabird,” returned the other, “and Smith’s the man to do it.”

“It’s a very hard thing to do in these days, sir,” said Mr. Wilks, shaking his head.  “What with signing on aboard the day before the ship sails, and before the Board o’ Trade officers, I’m sure it’s a wonder that anybody goes to sea at all.”

“You leave that to Smith,” said the captain, impatiently.  “The Seabird sails on Friday morning’s tide.  Tell Smith I’ll arrange to meet my son here on Thursday night, and that he must have some liquor for us and a fly waiting on the beach.”

Mr. Wilks wriggled:  “But what about signing on, sir?” he inquired.

“He won’t sign on,” said the captain, “he’ll be a stowaway.  Smith must get him smuggled aboard, and bribe the hands to let him lie hidden in the fo’c’s’le.  The Seabird won’t put back to put him ashore.  Here is five pounds; give Smith two or three now, and the remainder when the job is done.”

The steward took the money reluctantly and, plucking up his courage, looked his old master in the face.

“It’s a ’ard life afore the mast, sir,” he said, slowly.

“Rubbish!” was the reply.  “It’ll make a man of him.  Besides, what’s it got to do with you?”

“I don’t care about the job, sir,” said Mr. Wilks, bravely.

“What’s that got to do with it?” demanded the other, frowning.  “You go and fix it up with Nathan Smith as soon as possible.”

Mr. Wilks shuffled his feet and strove to remind himself that he was a gentleman of independent means, and could please himself.

“I’ve known ’im since he was a baby,” he murmured, defiantly.