The next morning Blinks opened the galley at an early hour, and was surprised and enraged to find that some of his pies were again missing.  He carefully examined every nook and corner of the galley, but failed to discover a place where any one could effect an entrance.

For four nights more, in succession, Frank and his accomplices visited the galley, each time taking pies enough to last them a whole day; and Blinks, in the mean time, was making unavailing efforts to discover the offenders.  On the fifth night, Archie, who was the one that always went into the galley, was much longer than usual in finding the pies.  At length he whispered,

“I say, Simpson!”

“Ay, ay, my hearty; what is it?”

“I can’t find but one pie.”

“You can’t, hey?” said Simpson; “I smell a rat.  Bring the pie out here.”

Archie accordingly handed it out, saying, as he did so—­

“I’m hungry as blazes; I believe I’ll eat a piece of that pie to-night.”

“Not in a hurry,” said Simpson, as they began to crawl back toward their hammocks; “not in a hurry; I’ve been in such scrapes as this before, and can’t be fooled easy.”

“What do you mean?” inquired Frank.

“Why, I mean that this pie was made on purpose for us,” said Simpson; “it has got some kind of medicine in it that will make a fellow sick.  If we should eat it, they would not be long in finding out who stole the pies.”

“I’ll tell you what to do with it,” said Frank, suddenly; “let’s give it to Jenkins, the boatswain’s mate; he’s a mean fellow, and I shouldn’t be sorry to see him sick.’

“That’s just what I was going to do with it,” said Simpson.  “Now, you go back to your hammocks, and I’ll carry him the pie.”

“As Simpson had taken particular notice of the place where Jenkins was in the habit of slinging his hammock, he had no difficulty whatever in finding it.

“I say, shipmate,” he whispered, shaking the mate by the shoulder.

“What do you want?” he growled.

“Wake up,” said Simpson; “I’ve got a nice pie for you; do you want it?”

“Of course I do,” answered the mate, taking it from Simpson’s hand.  “But who are you?” he inquired, for it was so dark that he could not have recognized the features of his most intimate friend.

“I’m Jack Smith,” answered Simpson; “but I can’t stop to talk with you, for some one may discover me;” and before Jenkins could detain him, he had slipped off quietly in the darkness.

It was as Simpson had said—­the pie had made “on purpose for them.”  When Blinks saw that it was impossible to discover the guilty party, he ordered his steward to make a nice large pie, into which he put two doses of jalap.  It was his intention to make the offender sick; and he told the doctor what he had done, and requested him to keep an eye on all who came to him for medicine.

The next morning Jenkins was not heard blowing his whistle, but was seen moving slowly about the ship, with a pale, woe-begone countenance; and as soon as the doctor appeared, he made application to go on the “sick-list.”