A deadly chill struck at the hearts of the listeners at these words, then Bill, after a glance at the foot of his bunk, where he usually kept his clothes, sprang out and began a hopeless search. The other men followed suit, and the air rang with lamentations and profanity. Even the spare suits in the men’s chests had gone; and Bill, a prey to acute despair, sat down, and in a striking passage consigned the entire British Army to perdition. “’E’s taken one suit and chucked the rest overboard, I expect, so as we sha’n’t be able to go arter ’im,” said Thomas. “I expect he could swim arter all, Bill.” Bill, still busy with the British Army, paid no heed. “We must go an’ tell the old man,” said Ted. “Better be careful,” cautioned the cook. “’Im an’ the mate ’ad a go at the whisky last night, an’ you know wot ’e is next morning.” The men went up slowly on deck. The morning was fine, but the air, chill with a breeze from the land, had them at a disadvantage. Ashore, a few people were early astir. “You go down, Thomas, you’re the oldest,” said Bill. “I was thinking o’ Ted going,” said Thomas, “’e’s the youngest.” Ted snorted derisively. “Oh, was you?” he remarked helpfully. “Or Bob,” said the old man, “don’t matter which.” “Toss up for it,” said the cook. Bill, who was keeping his money in his hand as the only safe place left to him, produced a penny and spun it in the air. “Wait a bit,” said Ted, earnestly. “Wot time was you to call the old man?” he asked, turning to the cook. “Toss up for it,” repeated that worthy, hurriedly. “Six o’clock,” said Bob, speaking for him; “it’s that now, cookie. Better go an’ call ’im at once.” “I dassent go like this,” said the trembling cook. “Well, you’ll ’ave to,” said Bill. “If the old man misses the tide, you know wot you’ve got to expect.” “Let’s follow ’im down,” said Ted. “Come along, cookie, we’ll see you righted.” The cook thanked him, and, followed by the others, led the way down to interview the skipper. The clock ticked on the mantlepiece, and heavy snoring proceeded both from the mate’s bunk and the state-room. On the door of the latter the cook knocked gently; then he turned the handle and peeped in. The skipper, raising a heavy head, set in matted hair and disordered whiskers, glared at him fiercely. “What d’ye want?” he roared. “If you please, sir—” began the cook. He opened the door as he spoke, and disclosed the lightly-clad crowd behind. The skipper’s eyes grew large and his jaw dropped, while inarticulate words came from his parched and astonished throat; and the mate, who was by this time awake, sat up in his bunk and cursed them roundly for their indelicacy. “Get out,” roared the skipper, recovering his voice. “We came to tell you,” interposed Bill, “as ’ow——” “Get out,” roared the skipper again. “How dare you come to my state-room, and like this, too.” “All our clothes ’ave gone and so ’as the sojer chap,” said Bill.