“The ghost o’ Bill Smith,” growled Ned, correcting himself savagely, “has took our dinner away, an’ him an’ the ghost o’ Tommy Brown is a sitting down and boltin’ of it as fast as they can bolt.” “Well, I don’t see what I can do,” said the skipper lazily. “What’d you let ’em for?” “You know what Bill is, sir,” said Ned. “I’m an old man, cook’s no good, and unless Simpson has a bit o’ raw beef for his eyes, he won’t be able to see for a week.” “Rubbish!” said the skipper jocularly. “Don’t tell me, three men all afraid o’ one ghost. I sha’n’t interfere. Don’t you know what to do?” “No, sir,” said Ned eagerly. “Go up and read the prayer-book to him, and he’ll vanish in a cloud of smoke,” said the skipper. Ned gazed at him for a moment speechlessly, and then going up on deck leaned over the side and swore himself faint. The cook and Simpson came up and listened respectfully, contenting themselves with an occasional suggestion when the old man’s memory momentarily failed him. For the rest of the voyage the two culprits suffered all the inconvenience peculiar to a loss of citizenship. The skipper blandly ignored them, and on two or three occasions gave great offence by attempting to walk through Bill as he stood on the deck. Speculation was rife in the fo’c’sle as to what would happen when they got ashore, and it was not until Northsea was sighted that the skipper showed his hand. Then he appeared on deck with their effects done up neatly in two bundles, and pitched them on the hatches. The crew stood and eyed him expectantly. “Ned,” said the skipper sharply. “Sir,” said the old man. “As soon as we’re made fast,” said the other, “I want you to go ashore for me and fetch an undertaker and a policeman. I can’t quite make up my mind which I want.” “Ay, ay, sir,” murmured the old man. The skipper turned away, and seizing the helm from the mate, took the ship in. He was so intent upon his business that he appeared not to notice the movements of Bill and Tommy as they edged nervously towards their bundles, and waited impatiently for the schooner to get alongside the quay. Then he turned to the mate and burst into a loud laugh as the couple, bending suddenly, snatched up their bundles, and, clambering up the side, sprang ashore and took to their heels. The mate laughed, too, and a faint but mirthless echo came from the other end of the schooner. A DISCIPLINARIAN “There’s no doubt about it,” said the night watchman, “but what dissipline’s a very good thing, but it don’t always act well. For instance, I ain’t allowed to smoke on this wharf, so when I want a pipe I either ’ave to go over to the ‘Queen’s ’ed,’ or sit in a lighter. If I’m in the ‘Queen’s ’ed,’ I can look arter the wharf, an’ once when I was sitting in a lighter smoking, the chap come aboard an’ cast off afore I knew what he was doing, and took me all the way to Greenwich. He said he’d often played that trick on watchmen.