On the impulse, I turned and went aft, along the deck to the ‘prentices’ berth.  As I neared the break of the poop, I looked up and saw the dark shape of the Second Mate, leaning over the rail above me.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

“It’s Jessop, Sir,” I said.

“What do you want in this part of the ship?” he inquired.

“I’d come aft to speak to Tammy, Sir,” I replied.

“You go along forrard and turn-in,” he said, not altogether unkindly.  “A sleep will do you more good than yarning about.  You know, you’re getting to fancy things too much!”

“I’m sure I’m not, Sir!  I’m perfectly well.  I—­”

“That will do!” he interrupted, sharply.  “You go and have a sleep.”

I gave a short curse, under my breath, and went slowly forrard.  I was getting maddened with being treated as if I were not quite sane.

“By God!” I said to myself.  “Wait till the fools know what I know—­just wait!”

I entered the fo’cas’le, through the port doorway, and went across to my chest, and sat down.  I felt angry and tired, and miserable.

Quoin and Plummer were sitting close by, playing cards, and smoking.  Stubbins lay in his bunk, watching them, and also smoking.  As I sat down, he put his head forward over the bunk-board, and regarded me in a curious, meditative way.

“What’s hup with ther Second hoffìcer?” he asked, after a short stare.

I looked at him, and the other two men looked up at me.  I felt I should go off with a bang, if I did not say something, and I let out pretty stiffly, telling them the whole business.  Yet, I had seen enough to know that it was no good trying to explain things; so I just told them the plain, bold facts, and left explanations as much alone as possible.

“Three times, you say?” said Stubbins when I had finished.

“Yes,” I assented.

“An’ ther Old Man sent yer from ther wheel this mornin’, ’cause yer ’appened ter see a ship ’e couldn’t,” Plummer added in a reflective tone.

“Yes,” I said, again.

I thought I saw him look at Quoin, significantly; but Stubbins, I noticed, looked only at me.

“I reckon ther Second thinks you’re a bit hoff colour,” he remarked, after a short pause.

“The Second Mate’s a fool!” I said, with some bitterness.  “A confounded fool!”

“I hain’t so sure about that,” he replied.  “It’s bound ter seem queer ter him.  I don’t understand it myself—­”

He lapsed into silence, and smoked.

“I carn’t understand ’ow it is ther Second Mate didn’t ’appen to spot it,” Quoin said, in a puzzled voice.

It seemed to me that Plummer nudged him to be quiet.  It looked as if Plummer shared the Second Mate’s opinion, and the idea made me savage.  But Stubbins’s next remark drew my attention.

“I don’t hunderstand it,” he said, again; speaking with deliberation.  “All ther same, ther Second should have savvied enough not to have slung you hoff ther look-hout.”