Part 22 (1/2)

”I can't think,” said the skipper, ”my'ed's all confused. Bro--Mr.

Hutchins ain't come back yet.”

”I s'pose he was late and didn't like to disturb you,” said the mate without moving a muscle, ”but I've no doubt 'e's all right. Don't you worry about him.”

”It's very strange where it's gone, George,” faltered the skipper, ”very strange.”

”Well, 'Utchins is a generous sort o' chap,” said the mate, ”'e give the men five pounds for nothing, so perhaps he'll give you something--when 'e comes back.”

”Go an' ask the crew to come down here,” said the skipper, sinking on a locker and gazing at the brazen collection before him.

The mate obeyed, and a few minutes afterwards returned with the men, who swarming into the cabin, listened sympathetically as the skipper related his loss.

”It's a mystery which n.o.body can understand, sir,” said old Dan when he had finished, ”and it's no use tryin'.”

”One o' them things what won't never be cleared up properly,” said the cook comfortably.

”Well, I don't like to say it,” said the skipper, ”but I must. The only man who could have taken it was Hutchins.”

”Wot, sir,” said Dan, ”that blessed man! Why, I'd laugh at the idea.”

”He couldn't do it,” said the boy, ”not if he tried he couldn't. He was too good.”

”He's taken that twenty-three poun',” said the skipper deliberately; ”eighteen, we'll call it, because I'm goin' to have five of it back.”

”You're labourin' under a great mistake, sir,” said Dan ambiguously.

”Are you going to give me that money?” said the skipper loudly.

”Beggin' your pardon, sir, no,” said the cook, speaking for the rest as he put his foot on the companion-ladder. ”Brother 'Utchins gave us that money for singing them 'ims so well. 'E said so, and we ain't 'ad no call to think as it warn't honestly come by. Nothing could ever make us think that, would it, mates?”

”Nothing,” said the others with exemplary firmness. ”It couldn't be done.”

They followed the cook up on deck, and leaning over the side, gazed in a yearning fas.h.i.+on toward the place where they had last seen their benefactor. Then, with a sorrowful presentiment that they could never look upon his like again, they turned away and prepared for the labours of the day.

THE DISBURs.e.m.e.nT SHEET

The old man was dead, and his son Edward reigned in his stead. The old man had risen from an humble position in life; his rule was easy, and his manner of conducting business eminently approved of by the rough old seamen who sailed his small craft round the coast, and by that sharp clerk Simmons, on whose discovery the old man was wont, at times, to hug himself in secret. The proceedings, when one of his skippers came home from a voyage, were severely simple. The skipper would produce a bag, and, emptying it upon the table, give an account of his voyage; whenever he came to an expenditure, raking the sum out of the heap, until, at length, the cash was divided into two portions, one of which went to the owner, the other to the skipper.

But other men other manners. The books of the inimitable Simmons being overhauled, revealed the startling fact that they were kept by single entry; in addition to which, a series of dots and dashes appeared against the figures, forming a code, the only key to which was locked up somewhere in Simmons's interior.

”It's a wonder the firm hasn't gone bankrupt long ago,” said the new governor, after the clerk had explained the meaning of various signs and wonders. ”What does this starfish against the entry mean?”

”It isn't a starfish, sir,” said Simmons; ”it means that one bag of sugar got wetted a little; then, if the consigners notice it, we shall know we have got to allow for it.”

”A pretty way of doing business, upon my word. It'll all have to be altered,” said the other. ”I must have new offices too; this dingy little hole is enough to frighten people away.”

The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Captain Fazackerly, of the schooner _Sarah Ann_, who, having just brought up in the river, had hastened to the office to report.