“Well, you’re all right at present,” said Fraser, glancing round; “rather different to what you’d have been if those two women had come to Ipswich and seen Cap’n Barber.” The other sat for a long time in thought. “I’ll lay up for a few weeks with this foot,” he said, slowly, “and you’ll have to tell the Tipping family that I’ve changed into another trade. What with the worry I’ve had lately, I shall be glad of a rest.” He made his way below, and turning in slept soundly after his fatigue until the cook aroused him a few hours later with the information that breakfast was ready. A wash and a change, together with a good breakfast, effected as much change in his spirits as in his appearance. Refreshed in mind and body, he slowly paced the deck, his chest expanding as he sniffed the fresh air, and his soul, encouraged by the dangers he had already passed through, bracing itself for fresh encounters. “I ’ope the foot is goin’ on well, sir,” said Tim, breaking in upon his meditations, respectfully. “Much easier this morning,” said the skipper, amiably. Tim, who was lending the cook a hand, went back into the galley to ponder. As a result of a heated debate in the fo’c’s’le, where the last night’s proceedings and the mysterious appearance of the skipper off Greenwich had caused a great sensation, they had drawn lots to decide who was to bell the cat, and Tim had won or lost according as the subject might be viewed. “You don’t want to walk about on it much, sir,” he said, thrusting his head out again. The skipper nodded. “I was alarmed last night,” said Tim. “We was all alarmed,” he added, hastily, in order that the others might stand in with the risk, “thinking that perhaps you’d walked too far and couldn’t get back.” The master of the _Foam_ looked at him, but made no reply, and Tim’s head was slowly withdrawn. The crew, who had been gazing over the side with their ears at the utmost tension, gave him five minutes’ grace and then, the skipper having gone aft again, walked up to the galley. “I’ve done all I could,” said the wretched youth. “Done all ye could?” said Joe, derisively, “why you ain’t done nothin’ yet.” “I can’t say anything more,” said Tim. “I dassent. I ain’t got your pluck, Joe.” “Pluck be damned!” said the seaman, fiercely; “why there was a chap I knew once, shipwrecked he was, and had to take to the boats. When the grub give out they drew lots to see who should be killed and eaten. He lost. Did ’e back out of it? Not a bit of it; ’e was a man, an’ ’e shook ’ands with ’em afore they ate ’im and wished ’em luck.” “Well, you can kill and eat me if that’s what you want,” said Tim, desperately. “I’d sooner ’ave that.” “Mind you,” said Joe, “till you’ve arsked them questions and been answered satisfactorily—none of us’ll ’ave anything to do with you, besides which I’ll give you such a licking as you’ve never ’ad before.”