It was not until eight o’clock next morning that the master of the _Sunbeam_ discovered that he was a boy short. He questioned the cook as he sat at breakfast. The cook, who was a very nervous man, turned pale, set the coffee-pot down with a thump which upset some of the liquor, and bolted up on deck. The skipper, after shouting for him in some of the most alluring swear words known on the high seas, went raging up on deck, where he found the men standing in a little knot, looking very ill at ease. “Bill,” said the skipper uneasily, “what’s the matter with that damned cook?” “’E’s ’ad a shock, sir,” said Bill, shaking his head, “we’ve all ’ad a shock.” “You’ll have another in a minute,” said the skipper emotionally. “Where’s the boy?” For a moment Bill’s hardihood forsook him, and he looked helplessly at his mates. In their anxiety to avoid his gaze they looked over the side, and a horrible fear came over the skipper. He looked at Bill mutely, and Bill held out a dirty piece of paper. The skipper read it through in a state of stupefaction, then he handed it to the mate, who had followed him on deck. The mate read it and handed it back. “It’s yours,” he said shortly. “I don’t understand it,” said the skipper, shaking his head. “Why, only yesterday he was up on deck here eating his dinner, and saying it was the best meat he ever tasted. You heard him, Bob?” “I _heard_ him, pore little devil!” said the mate. “You all heard him,” said the skipper. “Well, there’s five witnesses I’ve got. He must have been mad. Didn’t nobody hear him go overboard?” “I ’eard a splash, sir, in my watch,” said Bill. “Why didn’t you run and see what it was?” demanded the other. “I thought it was one of the chaps come up to throw his supper overboard,” said Bill simply. “Ah!” said the skipper, biting his lip, “did you? You’re always going on about the grub. What’s the matter with it?” “It’s pizon, sir,” said Ned, shaking his head. “The meat’s awful.” “It’s as sweet as nuts,” said the skipper. “Well, you can have it out of the other tank if you like. Will that satisfy you?” The men brightened up a little and nudged each other. “The butters bad too, sir,” said Bill. “Butter bad!” said the skipper frowning, “how’s that, cook?” “I ain’t done nothing to it, sir,” said the cook helplessly. “Give ’em butter out o’ the firkin in the cabin,” growled the skipper. “It’s my firm belief you’d been ill-using that boy, the food was delicious.” He walked off, taking the letter with him, and, propping it up against the sugar-basin, made but a poor breakfast.