In response to this flattering remark George gurgled.

“Why,” said the other, with an uneasy laugh, “did you think I was dead, George?  Ha, ha!  Feel that!”

He fetched the horrified man a thump in the back, which stopped even his gurgles.

“That feel like a dead man?” asked the smiter, raising his hand again.  “Feel”—­

The mate moved back hastily.  “That’ll do,” said he fiercely; “ghost or no ghost, don’t you hit me like that again.”

“A’ right, George,” said the other, as he meditatively felt the stiff grey whiskers which framed his red face.  “What’s the news?”

“The news,” said George, who was of slow habits and speech, “is that you was found last Tuesday week off St. Katherine’s Stairs, you was sat on a Friday week at the Town o’ Ramsgate public-house, and buried on Monday afternoon at Lowestoft.”

“Buried?” gasped the other, “sat on?  You’ve been drinking, George.”

“An’ a pretty penny your funeral cost, I can tell you,” continued the mate.  “There’s a headstone being made now—­’Lived lamented and died respected,’ I think it is, with ‘Not lost, but gone before,’ at the bottom.”

“Lived respected and died lamented, you mean,” growled the old man; “well, a nice muddle you have made of it between you.  Things always go wrong when I’m not here to look after them.”

“You ain’t dead, then?” said the mate, taking no notice of this unreasonable remark, “Where’ve you been all this long time?”

“No more than you’re master o’ this ’ere ship,” replied Mr. Harbolt grimly.  “I—­I’ve been a bit queer in the stomach, an’ I took a little drink to correct it.  Foolish like, I took the wrong drink, and it must have got into my head.”

“That’s the worst of not being used to it,” said the mate, without moving a muscle.

The skipper eyed him solemnly, but the mate stood firm.

“Arter that,” continued the skipper, still watching him suspiciously, “I remember no more distinctly until this morning, when I found myself sitting on a step down Poplar way and shiverin’, with the morning newspaper and a crowd round me.”

“Morning newspaper!” repeated the mystified mate.  “What was that for?”

“Decency.  I was wrapped up in it,” replied the skipper.  “Where I came from or how I got there I don’t know more than Adam.  I s’pose I must have been ill; I seem to remember taking something out of a bottle pretty often.  Some old gentleman in the crowd took me into a shop and bought me these clothes, an’ here I am.  My own clo’es and thirty pounds o’ freight money I had in my pocket is all gone.”

“Well, I’m hearty glad to see you back,” said the mate.  “It’s quite a home-coming for you, too.  Your missis is down aft.”

“My missis?  What the devil’s she aboard for?” growled the skipper, successfully controlling his natural gratification at the news.

“She’s been with us these last two trips,” replied the mate.  “She’s had business to settle in London, and she’s been going through your lockers to clear up, like.”