With these brave words the skipper disappeared below, and the mate, after one glance at the dauntless and imposing attitude of Mrs. Blossom, walked to the side and became engrossed in a passing steamer. A hum of wondering admiration arose from the crew, and the cook, thoroughly satisfied with her victory, returned to the scene of her labours. For the next twenty-four hours Mrs. Blossom reigned supreme, and performed the cooking for the vessel, assisted by five ministering seamen. The weather was fine, and the wind light, and the two officers were at their wits’ end to find jobs for the men. “Why don’t you put your foot down,” grumbled the mate, as a burst of happy laughter came from the direction of the galley. “The idea of men laughing like that aboard ship; they’re carrying on just as though we wasn’t here.” “Will you stand by me?” demanded the skipper, pale but determined. “Of course I will,” said the other indignantly. “Now, my lads,” said Harris, stepping forward, “I can’t have you chaps hanging round the galley all day; you’re getting in cook’s way and hindering her. Just get your knives out; I’ll have the masts scraped.” “You just stay where you are,” said Mrs. Blossom. “When they’re in my way, I’ll soon let ’em know.” “Did you hear what I said?” thundered the skipper, as the men hesitated. “Aye, aye, sir,” muttered the crew, moving off. “How dare you interfere with me?” said Mrs. Blossom hotly, as she realised the defeat. “Ever since I’ve been on this ship you’ve been trying to aggravate me. I wonder the men don’t hit you, you nasty, ginger-whiskered little man.” “Go on with your work,” said the skipper, fondly stroking the maligned whiskers. “Don’t you talk to me, Jim Harris,” said Mrs. Blossom, quivering with wrath. “Don’t you give _me_ none of your airs. _Who borrowed five pounds from my poor dead husband just before he died, and never paid it back?_” “Go on with your work,” repeated the skipper, with pale lips. “_Whose uncle Benjamin had three weeks?_” demanded Mrs. Blossom darkly. “_Whose uncle Joseph had to go abroad without stopping to pack up?_” The skipper made no reply, but the anxiety of the crew to have these vital problems solved was so manifest that he turned his back on the virago and went towards the mate, who at that moment dipped hurriedly to escape a wet dish-clout. The two men regarded each other, pale with anxiety. “Now, you just move off,” said Mrs. Blossom, shaking another clout at them. “I won’t have you hanging about my galley. Keep to your own end of the ship.” The skipper drew himself up haughtily, but the effect was somewhat marred by one eye, which dwelt persistently on the clout, and after a short inward struggle he moved off, accompanied by the mate. Wellington himself would have been nonplussed by a wet cloth in the hands of a fearless woman.