“What would you do?” persisted the skipper, with great expression.

“Laugh, I s’pose,” said Tommy, after a moment’s thought.

The sound of a well-boxed ear rang through the cabin.

“You’re an unnatural, ungrateful little toad,” said the skipper fiercely.  “You don’t deserve to have a good, kind uncle to look after you.”

“Anybody can have him for me,” sobbed the indignant Tommy, as he tenderly felt his ear.  “You look a precious sight more like an aunt than an uncle.”

After firing this shot he vanished in a cloud of blanket, and the skipper, reluctantly abandoning a hastily-formed resolve of first flaying him alive and then flinging him overboard, sat down again and lit his pipe.

Once out of the river he came on deck again, and, ignoring by a great effort the smiles of the crew and the jibes of the mate, took command.  The only alteration he made in his dress was to substitute his sou’- wester for the bonnet, and in this guise he did his work, while the aggrieved Tommy hopped it in blankets.  The three days at sea passed like a horrid dream.  So covetous was his gaze, that the crew instinctively clutched their nether garments and looked to the buttoning of their coats as they passed him.  He saw coats in the mainsail, and fashioned phantom trousers out of the flying jib, and towards the end began to babble of blue serges and mixed tweeds.  Oblivious of fame, he had resolved to enter the harbour of Battlesea by night; but it was not to be.  Near home the wind dropped, and the sun was well up before Battlesea came into view, a grey bank on the starboard bow.

Until within a mile of the harbour, the skipper held on, and then his grasp on the wheel relaxed somewhat, and he looked round anxiously for the mate.

“Where’s Bob?” he shouted.

“He’s very ill, sir,” said Ted, shaking his head.

“Ill?” gasped the startled skipper.  “Here, take the wheel a minute.”

He handed it over, and grasping his skirts went hastily below.  The mate was half lying, half sitting, in his bunk, groaning dismally.

“What’s the matter?” inquired the skipper.

“I’m dying,” said the mate.  “I keep being tied up all in knots inside.  I can’t hold myself straight.”

The other cleared his throat.  “You’d better take off your clothes and lie down a bit,” he said kindly.  “Let me help you off with them.”

“No—­don’t—­trouble,” panted the mate.

“It ain’t no trouble,” said the skipper, in a trembling voice.

“No, I’ll keep ’em on,” said the mate faintly.  “I’ve always had an idea I’d like to die in my clothes.  It may be foolish, but I can’t help it.”

“You’ll have your wish some day, never fear, you infernal rascal,” shouted the overwrought skipper.  “You’re shamming sickness to make me take the ship into port.”

“Why shouldn’t you take her in,” asked the mate, with an air of innocent surprise.  “It’s your duty as cap’n.  You’d better get above now.  The bar is always shifting.”