Part 32

“Damned if I know,” said Bill savagely.

“He don’t really think you’re ghosts?” suggested the cook feebly.

“O’ course not,” said Bill scornfully. “He’s got some little game on. Well, I’m going to my bunk. You’d better come too, Tommy. We’ll find out what it all means to-morrer, I’ve no doubt.”

On the morrow they received a little enlightenment, for after breakfast the cook came forward nervously to break the news that meat and vegetables had only been served out for three. Consternation fell upon all.

“I’ll go an’ see ’im,” said Bill ravenously.

He found the skipper laughing heartily over something with the mate. At the seaman’s approach he stepped back and eyed him coolly.

“Mornin’, sir,” said Bill, shuffling up. “We’d like to know, sir, me an’ Tommy, whether we can have our rations for dinner served out now same as before?”

“Dinner?” said the skipper in surprise. “What do you want dinner for?”

“Eat,” said Bill, eyeing him reproachfully.

“Eat?” said the skipper. “What’s the good o’ giving dinner to a ghost? Why you’ve got nowhere to put it.”

By dint of great self-control Bill smiled in a ghastly fashion, and patted his stomach.

“All air,” said the skipper turning away.

“Can we have our clothes and things then?” said Bill grinding his teeth. “Ned says as how you’ve got ’em.”

“Certainly not,” said the skipper. “I take ’em home and give ’em to your next o’ kin. That’s the law, ain’t it, Bob?”

“It is,” said the mate.

“They’ll ’ave your effects and your pay up to the night you committed suicide,” said the skipper.

“We didn’t commit sooicide,” said Bill; “how could we when we’re standing here?”

“Oh, yes, you did,” said the other. “I’ve got your letters in my pocket to prove it; besides, if you didn’t I should give you in charge for desertion directly we get to port.”

He exchanged glances with the mate, and Bill, after standing first on one leg and then on the other, walked slowly away. For the rest of the morning he stayed below setting the smaller ghost a bad example in the way of language, and threatening his fellows with all sorts of fearful punishments.

Until dinner-time the skipper heard no more of them, but he had just finished that meal and lit his pipe when he heard footsteps on the deck, and the next moment old Ned, hot and angry, burst into the cabin.

“Bill’s stole our dinner, sir,” he panted unceremoniously.

“Who?” inquired the skipper coldly.

“Bill, sir, Bill Smith,” replied Ned.

“Who?” inquired the skipper more coldly than before.

“The ghost o’ Bill Smith,” growled Ned, correcting himself savagely, “has took our dinner away, an’ him an’ the ghost o’ Tommy Brown is a sitting down and boltin’ of it as fast as they can bolt.”

“Well, I don’t see what I can do,” said the skipper lazily. “What ’d you let ’em for?”

“You know what Bill is, sir,” said Ned. “I’m an old man, cook’s no good, and unless Simpson has a bit o’ raw beef for his eyes, he won’t be able to see for a week.”

“Rubbish!” said the skipper jocularly. “Don’t tell me, three men all afraid o’ one ghost. I shan’t interfere. Don’t you know what to do?”