“Washamarrer?” he said sleepily.

It was Ben Butcher, the able seaman.

Polynesia spluttered like an angry fire-cracker.

“This is the last straw,” said she.  “The one man in the world we least wanted.  Shiver my timbers, what cheek!”

“Would it not be advisable,” suggested Bumpo, “while the varlet is still sleepy, to strike him on the head with some heavy object and push him through a port-hole into the sea?”

“No.  We’d get into trouble,” said Polynesia.  “We’re not in Jolliginki now, you know—­worse luck!—­Besides, there never was a port-hole big enough to push that man through.  Bring him upstairs to the Doctor.”

So we led the man to the wheel where he respectfully touched his cap to the Doctor.

“Another stowaway, Sir,” said Bumpo smartly.  I thought the poor Doctor would have a fit.

“Good morning, Captain,” said the man.  “Ben Butcher, able seaman, at your service.  I knew you’d need me, so I took the liberty of stowing away—­much against my conscience.  But I just couldn’t bear to see you poor landsmen set out on this voyage without a single real seaman to help you.  You’d never have got home alive if I hadn’t come—­Why look at your mainsail, Sir—­all loose at the throat.  First gust of wind come along, and away goes your canvas overboard—­Well, it’s all right now I’m here.  We’ll soon get things in shipshape.”

“No, it isn’t all right,” said the Doctor, “it’s all wrong.  And I’m not at all glad to see you.  I told you in Puddleby I didn’t want you.  You had no right to come.”

“But Captain,” said the able seaman, “you can’t sail this ship without me.  You don’t understand navigation.  Why, look at the compass now:  you’ve let her swing a point and a half off her course.  It’s madness for you to try to do this trip alone—­if you’ll pardon my saying so, Sir.  Why—­why, you’ll lose the ship!”

“Look here,” said the Doctor, a sudden stern look coming into his eyes, “losing a ship is nothing to me.  I’ve lost ships before and it doesn’t bother me in the least.  When I set out to go to a place, I get there.  Do you understand?  I may know nothing whatever about sailing and navigation, but I get there just the same.  Now you may be the best seaman in the world, but on this ship you’re just a plain ordinary nuisance—­very plain and very ordinary.  And I am now going to call at the nearest port and put you ashore.”

“Yes, and think yourself lucky,” Polynesia put in, “that you are not locked up for stowing away and eating all our salt beef.”

“I don’t know what the mischief we’re going to do now,” I heard her whisper to Bumpo.  “We’ve no money to buy any more; and that salt beef was the most important part of the stores.”

“Would it not be good political economy,” Bumpo whispered back, “if we salted the able seaman and ate him instead?  I should judge that he would weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds.”