At the sight the skipper held up his skirts and ran.  “Ahoy!” he shouted.  “Wait a minute.”

The mate gave one look of blank astonishment at the extraordinary figure, and then turned away; but at that moment the stern came within jumping distance of the wharf, and uncle and nephew, moved with one impulse leaped for it and gained the deck in safety.

“Why didn’t you wait when I hailed you?” demanded the skipper fiercely.

“How was I to know it was you?” inquired the mate surlily, as he realised his defeat.  “I thought it was the Empress of Rooshia.”

The skipper stared at him dumbly.

“An’ if you take my advice,” said the mate, with a sneer, “you’ll keep them things on. I never see you look so well in anything afore.”

“I want to borrow some o’ your clothes, Bob,” said the skipper, eyeing him steadily.

“Where’s your own?” asked the other.

“I don’t know,” said the skipper.  “I was took with a fit last night, Bob, and when I woke up this morning they were gone.  Somebody must have took advantage of my helpless state and taken ’em.”

“Very likely,” said the mate, turning away to shout an order to the crew, who were busy setting sail.

“Where are they, old man?” inquired the skipper.

“How should I know?” asked the other, becoming interested in the men again.

“I mean your clothes,” said the skipper, who was fast losing his temper.

“Oh, mine?” said the mate.  “Well, as a matter o’ fact, I don’t like lending my clothes.  I’m rather pertickler.  You might have a fit in them.”

“You won’t lend ’em to me?” asked the skipper.

“I won’t,” said the mate, speaking loudly, and frowning significantly at the crew, who were listening.

“Very good,” said the skipper.  “Ted, come here.  Where’s your other clothes?”

“I’m very sorry, sir,” said Ted, shifting uneasily from one leg to the other, and glancing at the mate for support; “but they ain’t fit for the likes of you to wear, sir.”  “I’m the best judge of that,” said the skipper sharply.  “Fetch ’em up.”

“Well, to tell the truth, sir,” said Ted, “I’m like the mate.  I’m only a poor sailor-man, but I wouldn’t lend my clothes to the Queen of England.”

“You fetch up them clothes,” roared the skipper snatching off his bonnet and flinging it on the deck.  “Fetch ’em up at once.  D’ye think I’m going about in these petticuts?”

“They’re my clothes,” muttered Ted doggedly.

“Very well, then, I’ll have Bill’s,” said the skipper.  “But mind you, my lad, I’ll make you pay for this afore I’ve done with you.  Bill’s the only honest man aboard this ship.  Gimme your hand, Bill, old man.”

“I’m with them two,” said Bill gruffly, as he turned away.

The skipper, biting his lips with fury, turned from one to the other, and then, with a big oath, walked forward.  Before he could reach the fo’c’sle Bill and Ted dived down before him, and, by the time he had descended, sat on their chests side by side confronting him.  To threats and appeals alike they turned a deaf ear, and the frantic skipper was compelled at last to go on deck again, still encumbered with the hated skirts.