The skipper, summarising the chief points in Ben’s character, which, owing principally to the poverty of the English language, bore a remarkable likeness to Joe’s and the mate’s, took his sock and boot in his hand, and gaining the deck limped painfully to the cabin. The foot was so painful after tea that he could hardly bear his slipper on, and he went ashore in his working clothes to the chemist’s, preparatory to fitting himself out for Liston Street. The chemist, leaning over the counter, was inclined to take a serious view of it, and shaking his head with much solemnity, prepared a bottle of medicine, a bottle of lotion and a box of ointment. “Let me see it again as soon as you’ve finished the medicine,” he said, as he handed the articles over the counter. Flower promised, and hobbling towards the door turned into the street. Then the amiable air which he had worn in the shop gave way to one of unseemly hauteur as he saw Fraser hurrying towards him. “Look out,” cried the latter, warningly. The skipper favoured him with a baleful stare. “All right,” said the mate, angrily, “go your own way, then. Don’t come to me when you get into trouble, that’s all.” Flower passed on his way in silence. Then a thought struck him and he stopped suddenly. “You wish to speak to me?” he asked, stiffly. “No, I’m damned if I do,” said the mate, sticking his hands into his pockets. “If you wish to speak to me,” said the other, trying in vain to conceal a trace of anxiety in his voice, “it’s my duty to listen. What were you going to say just now?” The mate eyed him wrathfully, but as the pathetic figure with its wounded toe and cargo of remedies stood there waiting for him to speak, he suddenly softened. “Don’t go back, old man,” he said, kindly, “_she’s_ aboard.” Eighteen pennyworth of mixture, to be taken thrice daily from tablespoons, spilled over the curb, and the skipper, thrusting the other packets mechanically into his pockets, disappeared hurriedly around the corner. “It’s no use finding fault with me,” said Fraser, quickly, as he stepped along beside him, “so don’t try it. They came down into the cabin before I knew they were aboard, even.” “They?” repeated the distressed Flower. “Who’s they?” “The young woman that came before and a stout woman with a little dark moustache and earrings. They’re going to wait until you come back to ask you a few questions about Mr. Robinson. They’ve been asking me a few. I’ve locked the door of your state-room and here’s the key.” Flower pocketed it and, after a little deliberation thanked him. “I did the best I could for you,” said the other, with a touch of severity. “If I’d treated you as some men would have done, I should have just let you walk straight into the trap.” Flower gave an apologetic cough. “I’ve had a lot of worry lately, Jack,” he said, humbly; “come in and have something. Perhaps it will clear my head a bit.”