“I’ve changed my mind; the men don’t know their place,” said the mate, shortly. Fraser raised his eyebrows. “Forget who I am,” said Ben, gruffly. “I was never one to take much count of such things, but when it comes to being patted on the back by an A. B., it’s time to remind ’em.” “Did they do that?” said Fraser, in a voice of horror. “Joe did,” said Ben. “’E won’t do it ag’in, I don’t think. I didn’t say anything, but I think ’e knows my feelings.” “There’s your berth,” said Fraser, indicating it with a nod. Ben grunted in reply, and being disinclined for conversation, busied himself with the meal, and as soon as he had finished went up on deck. “Wot yer been down there for, Bennie?” asked Joe, severely, as he appeared; “your tea’s all cold.” “I’ve ’ad my breakfast with the skipper,” said Ben, shortly. “You was always fond of your stummick, Bennie,” said Joe, shaking his head, sorrowfully. “I don’t think much of a man wot leaves his old mates for a bit o’ bacon.” The new mate turned away from him haughtily, “Tim,” he said, sharply. “Yes, Ben,” said the youth. “Why, wot’s the matter? Wot are you looking like that for? Ain’t you well?” “Wot did you call me?” demanded the new mate. “I didn’t call you anything,” said the startled Tim. “Let me ’ear you call me Ben ag’in and you’ll hear of it,” said the other, sharply. “Go and clean the brasswork.” The youth strolled off, gasping, with an envious glance at the cook, who, standing just inside the galley, cheerfully flaunted a saucepan he was cleaning, as though defying the mate to find _him_ any work to do. “Bill,” said the mate. “Sir,” said the polite seaman. “Help Joe scrub paintwork,” was the reply. “Me!” broke in the indignant Joe. “Scrub—Look ’ere, Ben.” “Pore old Joe,” said the cook, who had not forgiven him for the previous night’s affair. “Pore old Joe.” “Don’t stand gaping about,” commanded the new mate. “Liven up there.” “It don’t want cleaning. I won’t do it,” said Joe, fiercely. “I’ve give my orders,” said the new mate, severely; “if they ain’t attended to, or if I ’ear any more about not doing ’em, you’ll hear of it. The idea o’ telling me you won’t do it. The idea o’ setting such an example to the young ’uns. The idea—Wot are you making that face for?” “I’ve got the earache,” retorted Joe, with bitter sarcasm. “I thought you would ’ave, Joe,” said the vengeful cook, retiring behind a huge frying-pan, “when I ’eard you singing this morning.” Fraser, coming on deck, was just in time to see a really creditable imitation of a famous sculpture as represented by Joe, Tim, and Ben, but his criticism was so sharp and destructive that the group at once broke and never re-formed. Indeed, with a common foe in the person of Ben, the crew adjusted their own differences, and by the time Seabridge was in sight were united by all the fearful obligations of a secret society of which Joe was the perpetual president.