“There’s a row on with the cabman,” said the lady calmly. “This silly old man”—the watchman snorted fiercely—“let the box go through the window getting it off the top, and the cabman wants _me_ to pay. He’s out there using language, and he keeps calling me grandma—I want you to have him locked up.” “Come down below now,” said the skipper; “we’ll see about the cab. Mrs. Blossom—my mate. George, go and send that cab away.” Mrs. Blossom, briefly acknowledging the introduction, followed the skipper to the cabin, while the mate, growling under his breath, went out to enter into a verbal contest in which he was from the first hopelessly overmatched. The new cook, being somewhat fatigued with her journey, withdrew at an early hour, and the sun was well up when she appeared on deck next morning. The wharves and warehouses of the night before had disappeared, and the schooner, under a fine spread of canvas, was just passing Tilbury. “There’s one thing I must put a stop to,” said the skipper, as he and the mate, after an admirably-cooked breakfast, stood together talking. “The men seem to be hanging round that galley too much.” “What can you expect?” demanded the mate. “They’ve all got their Sunday clothes on too, pretty dears.” “Hi, you Bill!” cried the skipper. “What are you doing there?” “Lending cook a hand with the saucepans, sir,” said Bill, an oakum-bearded man of sixty. “There ain’t no call for ’im to come ’ere at all, sir,” shouted another seaman, putting his head out of the galley. “Me an’ cook’s lifting ’em beautiful.” “Come out, both of you, or I’ll start you with a rope!” roared the irritated commander. “What’s the matter?” inquired Mrs. Blossom. “They’re not doing any harm.” “I can’t have ’em there,” said the skipper gruffly. “They’ve got other things to do.” “I must have some assistance with that boiler and the saucepans,” said Mrs. Blossom decidedly, “so don’t you interfere with what don’t concern you, Jimmy.” “That’s mutiny,” whispered the horrified mate. “Sheer, rank mutiny.” “She don’t know no better,” whispered the other back. “Cook, you mustn’t talk like that to the cap’n—what me and the mate tell you you must do. You don’t understand yet, but it’ll come easier by-and-bye.” “_Will_ it,” demanded Mrs. Blossom loudly; “_will_ it? I don’t think it will. How dare you talk to me like that, Jim Harris? You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” “My name’s Cap’n Harris,” said the skipper stiffly. “Well, _Captain_ Harris,” said Mrs. Blossom scornfully; “and what’ll happen if I don’t do as you and that other shamefaced-looking man tell me?” “We hope it won’t come to that,” said Harris, with quiet dignity, as he paused at the companion. “But the mate’s in charge just now, and I warn you he’s a very severe man. Don’t stand no nonsense, George.”