“Beneath it, sir?” said Sam, whose ideas were in a whirl.

“The cat, can’t you see the cat?” said the skipper, whose eyes had been riveted on the animal since its first appearance on deck.

Sam hesitated a moment, and then shook his head.

“The case has fallen on the cat,” said the skipper.  “I can see it distinctly.”

He might have said heard it, too, for Satan was making frenzied appeals to his sympathetic friends for assistance.

“Let me put the case back, sir,” said one of the men, “then p’raps the vision ’ll disappear.”

“No, stop where you are,” said the skipper.  “I can stand it better by daylight.  It’s the most wonderful and extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen.  Do you mean to say you can’t see anything, Sam?”

“I can see a case, sir,” said Sam, speaking slowly and carefully,” with a bit of rusty iron band sticking out from it.  That’s what you’re mistaking for the cat, p’raps, sir.”

“Can’t you see anything, cook?” demanded the skipper.

“It may be fancy, sir,” faltered the cook, lowering his eyes, “but it does seem to me as though I can see a little misty sort o’ thing there.  Ah, now it’s gone.”

“No, it ain’t,” said the skipper.  “The ghost of Satan’s sitting there.  The case seems to have fallen on its tail.  It appears to be howling something dreadful.”

The men made a desperate effort to display the astonishment suitable to such a marvel, whilst Satan, who was trying all he knew to get his tail out, cursed freely.  How long the superstitious captain of the Skylark would have let him remain there will never be known, for just then the mate came on deck and caught sight of it before he was quite aware of the part he was expected to play.

“Why the devil don’t you lift the thing off the poor brute,” he yelled, hurrying up towards the case.

“What, can you see it, Dick?” said the skipper impressively, laying his hand on his arm.

“See it?” retorted the mate.  “D’ye think I’m blind.  Listen to the poor brute.  I should—­Oh!”

He became conscious of the concentrated significant gaze of the crew.  Five pairs of eyes speaking as one, all saying “idiot” plainly, the boy’s eyes conveying an expression too great to be translated.

Turning, the skipper saw the bye-play, and a light slowly dawned upon him.  But he wanted more, and he wheeled suddenly to the cook for the required illumination.

The cook said it was a lark.  Then he corrected himself and said it wasn’t a lark, then he corrected himself again and became incoherent.  Meantime the skipper eyed him stonily, while the mate released the cat and good-naturedly helped to straighten its tail.

It took fully five minutes of unwilling explanation before the skipper could grasp the situation.  He did not appear to fairly understand it until he was shown the chest with the ventilated lid; then his countenance cleared, and, taking the unhappy Billy by the collar, he called sternly for a piece of rope.