Then the skipper drew the blankets from the mate’s sleepy clutches, and, rolling him backwards and forwards in the bunk, patiently explained to him that he was very unwell, that he was going to have a drop of whiskey neat, and turn in, and that he, the mate, was to take the watch. From this moment the joke lost much of its savour for the mate. “You can have a nip too, Dick,” said the skipper, proffering him the whiskey, as the other sullenly dressed himself. “It’s all rot,” said the mate, tossing the spirits down his throat, “and it’s no use either; you can’t run away from a ghost; it’s just as likely to be in your bed as anywhere else. Good-night.” He left the skipper pondering over his last words, and dubiously eyeing the piece of furniture in question. Nor did he retire until he had subjected it to an analysis of the most searching description, and then, leaving the lamp burning, he sprang hastily in, and forgot his troubles in sleep. It was day when he awoke, and went on deck to find a heavy sea running, and just sufficient sail set to keep the schooner’s head before the wind as she bobbed about on the waters. An exclamation from the skipper, as a wave broke against the side and flung a cloud of spray over him, brought the mate’s head round. “Why, you ain’t going to get up?” he said, in tones of insincere surprise. “Why not?” inquired the other gruffly. “You go and lay down agin,” said the mate, “and have a cup o’ nice hot tea an’ some toast.” “Clear out,” said the skipper, making a dash for the wheel, and reaching it as the wet deck suddenly changed its angle. “I know you didn’t like being woke up, Dick; but I got the horrors last night. Go below and turn in.” “All right,” said the mollified mate. “You didn’t see anything?” inquired the skipper, as he took the wheel from him. “Nothing at all,” said the other. The skipper shook his head thoughtfully, then shook it again vigorously, as another shower-bath put its head over the side and saluted him. “I wish I hadn’t drowned that cat, Dick,” he said. “You won’t see it again,” said Dick, with the confidence of a man who had taken every possible precaution to render the prophecy a safe one. He went below, leaving the skipper at the wheel idly watching the cook as he performed marvellous feats of jugglery, between the galley and the fo’c’sle, with the men’s breakfast. A little while later, leaving the wheel to Sam, he went below himself and had his own, talking freely, to the discomfort of the conscious-stricken cook, about his weird experiences of the night before. “You won’t see it no more, sir, I don’t expect,” he said faintly; “I b’leeve it come and rubbed itself up agin your leg to show it forgave you.” “Well, I hope it knows it’s understood,” said the other. “I don’t want it to take any more trouble.”