“Certainly not,” said Captain Hardy. “I have been making inquiries, and I find that you have only yourself to thank for the position in which you find yourself. I am sorry to be harsh with you.” “Harsh?” repeated the other, hardly able to believe his ears. “You—harsh to me?” “But it is for your own good,” pursued Captain Hardy; “it is no pleasure to me to punish you. I shall keep an eye on you while you’re aboard, and if I see that your conduct is improving you will find that I am not a hard man to get on with.” [Illustration: “You keep on, Nugent, don’t you mind ’im.”] Captain Nugent stared at him with his lips parted. Three times he essayed to speak and failed; then he turned sharply and, gaining the open air, stood for some time trying to regain his composure before going forward again. The first mate, who was on the bridge, regarded him curiously, and then, with an insufferable air of authority, ordered him away. The captain obeyed mechanically and, turning a deaf ear to the inquiries of the men, prepared to make the best of an intolerable situation, and began to cleanse his bunk. First of all he took out the bedding and shook it thoroughly, and then, procuring soap and a bucket of water, began to scrub with a will. Hostile comments followed the action. “We ain’t clean enough for ’im,” said one voice. “Partikler old party, ain’t he, Bill?” said another. “You leave ’im alone,” said the man addressed, surveying the captain’s efforts with a smile of approval. “You keep on, Nugent, don’t you mind ’im. There’s a little bit there you ain’t done.” “Keep your head out of the way, unless you want it knocked off,” said the incensed captain. “Ho!” said the aggrieved Bill. “Ho, indeed! D’ye ’ear that, mates? A man musn’t look at ’is own bunk now.” The captain turned as though he had been stung. “This is my bunk,” he said, sharply. “Ho, is it?” said Bill. “Beggin’ of your pardon, an’ apologizing for a-contradictin’ of you, but it’s mine. You haven’t got no bunk.” “I slept in it last night,” said the captain, conclusively. “I know you did,” said Bill, “but that was all my kind-’artedness.” “And ’arf a quid, Bill,” a voice reminded him. “And ’arf a quid,” assented Bill, graciously, “and I’m very much obliged to you, mate, for the careful and tidy way in which you’ve cleaned up arter yourself.” The captain eyed him. Many years of command at sea had given him a fine manner, and force of habit was for a moment almost too much for Bill and his friends. But only for a moment. “I’m going to keep this bunk,” said the captain, deliberately. “No, you ain’t, mate,” said Bill, shaking his head, “don’t you believe it. You’re nobody down here; not even a ordinary seaman. I’m afraid you’ll ’ave to clean a place for yourself on the carpet. There’s a nice corner over there.” “When I get back,” said the furious captain, “some of you will go to gaol for last night’s work.”