They went off, leaving the skipper a prey to gathering uneasiness, watching their movements with wrinkled brow. From the forecastle and the galley they produced two mops and a broom, and he caught his breath sharply as Miss Evans came on deck with a pot of white paint in one hand and a pot of tar in the other. “Now, girls,” said Miss Evans. “Put those things down,” said the skipper in a peremptory voice. “Sha’n’t,” said Miss Evans bluntly. “You haven’t got enough on yours,” she said, turning to Miss Davies. “Don’t spoil the skipper for a ha’porth of tar.” At this new version of an old saw they laughed joyously, and with mops dripping tar and paint on the deck, marched in military style up to the skipper, and halted in front of him, smiling wickedly. Then the heart of the skipper waxed sore faint within him, and, with a wild yell, he summoned his trusty crew to his side. The crew came on deck slowly, and casting furtive glances at the scene, pushed Ephraim Biddle to the front. “Take those mops away from ’em,” said the skipper haughtily. “Don’t you interfere,” said Miss Evans, looking at them over her shoulder. “Else we’ll give you some,” said Miss Williams bloodthirstily. “Take those mops away from ’em!” bawled the skipper, instinctively drawing back as Miss Evans made a pass at him. “I don’t see as ’ow we can interfere, sir,” said Biddle with deep respect. “_What!_” said the astonished skipper. “It would be agin the lor for us to interfere with people,” said Biddle, turning to his mates, “dead agin the lor.” “Don’t you talk rubbish,” said the skipper anxiously. “Take ’em away from ’em. It’s my tar and my paint, and—” “You shall have it,” said Miss Evans reassuringly. “If we touched ’em,” said Biddle impressively, “it’d be an assault at lor. ’Sides which, they’d probably muss us up with ’em. All we can do, sir, is to stand by and see fair play.” “Fair play!” cried the skipper dancing with rage, and turning hastily to the mate, who had just come on the scene. “Take those things away from ’em, Jack.” “Well, if it’s all the same to you,” said the mate, “I’d rather not be drawn into it.” “But I’d rather you were,” said the skipper sharply. “Take ’em away.” “How?” inquired the mate pertinently. “I order you to take ’em away,” said the skipper. “How, is your affair.” “I’m not goin’ to raise my hand against a woman for anybody,” said the mate with decision. “It’s no part of my work to get messed up with tar and paint from lady passengers.” “It’s part of your work to obey me, though,” said the skipper, raising his voice; “all of you. There’s five of you, with the mate, and only three gells. What are you afraid of?” “Are you going to take us back?” demanded Jenny Evans. “Run away,” said the skipper with dignity. “Run away.” “I shall ask you three times,” said Miss Evans sternly. “One—are you going back? Two—are you going back? Three———”