“Well, sir,” answered Nat Berry, who was generally reckoned the wag of the ship, “it might pass, by its look, for a concealment o’ birth.  But it ain’t.  It’s a testimonial.”

“A what?”

But here the mate—­who had been standing for some moments on one leg—­ suddenly cleared his throat.

“Cap’n Hocken,” said he in a strained unnatural voice, “we the undersigned, bein’ mate and crew of the Hannah Hoo barquentine—­”

“Be this an affidavit?”

“No it isn’:  ‘tis a Musical Box. . . .  As I was sayin’, We the undersigned, bein’ mate an’ crew of the Hannah Hoo barquentine, which we hear that you’re givin’ up command of the same, Do hereby beg leave to express our mingled feelin’s at the same in the shape of this here accompanyin’ Musical Box.  And our united hope as you may have live long to enjoy the noise it kicks up, which”—­here Mr Tregaskis dropped to a confidential tone—­“it plays ‘Home, Sweet Home,’ with other fashionable tunes, an’ can be turned off at any time by means of a back-handed switch marked ‘Stop’ in plain letters.  IT IS therefore—­” here the speaker resumed his oratorical manner—­“our united wish, sir, as you will accept the forthcoming Musical Box from the above-mentioned undersigned as a mark of respect in all weathers, and that you may live to marry an’ pass it down to your offspring—­”

“Hear, hear!” interjected Mr Nat Berry, and was told to shut his head.

“—­to your offspring, or, in other words, progenitors,” perorated Mr Tregaskis.  “And if you don’t like it, the man at the shop’ll change it for something of equal value.”  Here with a sweep of the hand he withdrew the handkerchief and disclosed the gift.  “I forget the chap’s name for the moment, but he’s a watchmaker, and lives off the Town Quay as you turn up west-an’-by-north to the Post Office.  The round mark on the lid—­as p’r’aps I ought to mention—­was caused by a Challenge Cup of some sort standin’ upon it all last summer in the eye of the sun, which don’t affect the music, an’ might be covered over with a brass plate in case of emergency; but time didn’t permit.”  Thus Mr Tregaskis concluded, and stood wiping his brow.

Captain Cai stared at the gift and around at the men’s faces mistily.  “Friends”—­he managed to say.  “Friends,” he began again after a painful pause, and then, “It’s all very well, William Tregaskis, but you might ha’ given a man warnin’—­after all these years!”

“It don’t want no acknowledgment:  but take your time,” said the mate handsomely, conscious, for his part, of having performed with credit.

At this suggestion Captain Cai with a vague gesture pulled out his watch, and amid the whirl of his brain was aware of the hour—­10.45.

“I’ve—­I’ve an appointment, friends, as it happens,” he stammered.  “And I thank you kindly, but—­” On a sudden happy inspiration he fixed an eye upon the mate.  “All sails unbent aboard?” he asked sternly.