Mates! the cards were lying in a pack, and the words were hardly out of my mouth, before they slipped down, and spread themselves out upon the table!  Lawrence gave a loud screech, and jumped up.  ‘Oh!’ says he, ‘it’s the Old Un with us in the cabin!’ and up the companion he tumbled, and I at his heels; and rushed for’ard as hard as we could pelt, and cuddled under the foresail—­which was lying on the deck—­all trembling and shaking, and our teeth chattering.

‘I told you what it would be,’ says Lawrence.

‘I’ll never play cards again,’ says I, ‘on a Sunday!’

Just at that minute we heard oars, and then a hail:  ’The Lively Nan, ahoy!’ It was Old Goss’s voice, and it was so thick, we knew he wasn’t sober.  So we slunk out, all trembling and clinging to each other.  The lamp was burning up the cabin skylight, but we were afraid to look down.  But if we didn’t look, we could not help hearing; and sure enough there was the rap of knuckles on the table, as if Somebody was impatient that his partner didn’t play.  Well, we were more dead than alive when the captain came alongside in a shore-boat, and tumbled up the side, abusing the boatmen for the price he had to pay them.  He had a lantern, and noticed the state we were in at once.

‘Now, then,’ says he, ’you couple of young swabs, what are ye standing grinning there for, like powder-monkeys in the aguer?  What’s come over you, ye twin pair of snivelling Molly Coddles?’ We looked at each other, but we were afraid to speak.  ‘What is it?’ he roared again, ’or I’ll make your backs as hot as a roasted pig’s!’ And on this, Lawrence reg’larly blubbered out:  ’The devil, sir; the devil is in the cabin playing at double dummy “put!"’

You should have heard Old Goss’s laugh at this.  They might have heard it ashore at Yarmouth.  Just as it stopped, the sound of the knuckles came up through the skylight.

‘Who’s below?’ says the captain.

‘No one,’ says I.

‘But Davy Jones,’ says Lawrence.

‘Then,’ says the captain, with an oath that was enough to split the mast, ’I’ll play with him!  It’s not been the first time, and it mayn’t be the last.  Go for’ard, you beggars’ brats, and don’t disturb us;’ and he went down the companion.

But we did not go for’ard.  No; we stretched ourselves on the deck, and peeped down the skylight.  We could only see faintly, but we did see the captain sitting, holding his hand of cards, and another hand opposite, all spread out, but no fingers holding it, and no man behind it.  There was a rap on the table, and I am sure it was not the captain that struck it.

‘Very well,’ says he; ’wait till I’ve thought.  You’re so confounded sharp.’

Then he played, and there was a dark shadow on the table—­we did not know what, but it made our hair stand on end.

‘Play fair, Old Un!’ says the captain.  ’There goes king of trumps.  Ha! that’s what I thought!  Of course, the devil’s own luck—­it’s a proverb.  Well, never say die.  There!’ and he played again.