“Nice-looking young feller, I s’pose?” said the mate somewhat anxiously.

“Not a bit of it,” said the other firmly.  “Looks as though he had never had a good meal in his life.  Now my friend Towson, he’s all right; he’s a man of about my own figger.”

“She’ll marry the clerk,” said the mate, with conviction.

“I’ll bet you she don’t,” said the skipper.  “I’m an artful man, Jack, an’ I, generally speaking, get my own way.  I couldn’t live with my missus peaceable if it wasn’t for management.”

The mate smiled safely in the darkness, the skipper’s management consisting chiefly of slavish obedience.

“I’ve got a cabinet fortygraph of him for the cabin mantel-piece, Jack,” continued the wily father.  “He gave it to me o’ purpose.  She’ll see that when she won’t see the clerk, an’ by-and-bye she’ll fall into our way of thinking.  Anyway, she’s going to stay here till she does.”

“You know your way about, cap’n,” said the mate, in pretended admiration.

The skipper laid his finger on his nose, and winked at the mainmast.  “There’s few can show me the way, Jack,” he answered softly; “very few.  Now I want you to help me too; I want you to talk to her a great deal.”

“Ay, ay,” said the mate, winking at the mast in his turn.

“Admire the fortygraph on the mantel-piece,” said the skipper.

“I will,” said the other.

“Tell her about a lot o’ young girls you know as married young middle-aged men, an’ loved ’em more an” more every day of their lives,” continued the skipper.

“Not another word,” said the mate.  “I know just what you want.  She shan’t marry the clerk if I can help it.”

The other turned and gripped him warmly by the hand.  “If ever you are a father your elf, Jack,” he said with emotion, “I hope as how somebody’ll stand by you as you’re standing by me.”

The mate was relieved the next day when he saw the portrait of Towson.  He stroked his moustache, and felt that he gained in good looks every time he glanced at it.

Breakfast finished, the skipper, who had been on deck all night, retired to his bunk.  The mate went on deck and took charge, watching with great interest the movements of the passenger as she peered into the galley and hotly assailed the cook’s method of washing up.

“Don’t you like the sea?” he inquired politely, as she came and sat on the cabin skylight.

Miss Alsen shook her head dismally.  “I’ve got to it,” she remarked.

“Your father was saying something to me about it,” said the mate guardedly.

“Did he tell the cook and the cabin boy too?” inquired Miss Alsen, flushing somewhat.  “What did he tell you?”

“Told me about a man named Towson,” said the mate, becoming intent on the sails, “and—­another fellow.”

“I took a little notice of him just to spoil the other,” said the girl, “not that I cared for him.  I can’t understand a girl caring for any man.  Great, clumsy, ugly things.”