“What’s the matter?” inquired the skipper. “I’m dying,” said the mate. “I keep being tied up all in knots inside. I can’t hold myself straight.” The other cleared his throat. “You’d better take off your clothes and lie down a bit,” he said kindly. “Let me help you off with them.” “No—don’t—trouble,” panted the mate. “It ain’t no trouble,” said the skipper, in a trembling voice. “No, I’ll keep ’em on,” said the mate faintly. “I’ve always had an idea I’d like to die in my clothes. It may be foolish, but I can’t help it.” “You’ll have your wish some day, never fear, you infernal rascal,” shouted the overwrought skipper. “You’re shamming sickness to make me take the ship into port.” “Why shouldn’t you take her in,” asked the mate, with an air of innocent surprise. “It’s your duty as cap’n. You’d better get above now. The bar is always shifting.” The skipper, restraining himself by a mighty effort, went on deck again, and, taking the wheel, addressed the crew. He spoke feelingly of the obedience men owed their superior officers, and the moral obligation they were under to lend them their trousers when they required them. He dwelt on the awful punishments awarded for mutiny, and proved clearly, that to allow the master of a ship to enter port in petticoats was mutiny of the worst type. He then sent them below for their clothing. They were gone such a long time that it was palpable to the meanest intellect that they did not intend to bring it. Meantime the harbour widened out before him. There were two or three people on the quay as the _Sarah Jane_ came within hailing distance. By the time she had passed the lantern at the end of it there were two or three dozen, and the numbers were steadily increasing at the rate of three persons for every five yards she made. Kind-hearted, humane men, anxious that their friends should not lose so great and cheap a treat, bribed small and reluctant boys with pennies to go in search of them, and by the time the schooner reached her berth, a large proportion of the population of the port was looking over each other’s shoulders and shouting foolish and hilarious inquiries to the skipper. The news reached the owner, and he came hurrying down to the ship, just as the skipper, regardless of the heated remonstrances of the sightseers, was preparing to go below. Mr. Pearson was a stout man, and he came down exploding with wrath. Then he saw the apparition, and mirth overcame him. It became necessary for three stout fellows to act as buttresses, and the more indignant the skipper looked the harder their work became. Finally he was assisted, in a weak state, and laughing hysterically, to the deck of the schooner, where he followed the skipper below, and in a voice broken with emotion demanded an explanation.