“I am, sir,” said Joe Bates, who was sitting on the hatch while the cook bathed an ugly wound in his leg. “A dog’s only allowed one bite, and he’s ’ad two this week.” “He bit me on Monday,” said the seaman who had spoken before. “Now he’s done for hisself.” “Hold your tongue!” said the skipper angrily. “You think you know a lot about the law, Sam Clark; let me tell you a dog’s entitled to have as many bites as ever he likes, so as he don’t bite the same person twice.” “That ain’t the way I’ve ’eard it put afore,” said Clark, somewhat taken back. “He’s the cutest dog breathing,” said the skipper fondly, “and he knows all about it. He won’t bite either of you again.” “And wot about them as ’asn’t been bit yet, sir?” inquired the cook. “Don’t halloo before you’re hurt,” advised the skipper. “If you don’t tease him he won’t bite you.” He went down to his dinner, followed by the sagacious Rupert, leaving the hands to go forward again, and to mutinously discuss a situation which was fast becoming unbearable. “It can’t go on no longer, Joe,” said Clark firmly; “this settles it.” “Where is the stuff?” inquired the cook in a whisper. “In my chest,” said Clark softly. “I bought it the night he bit me.” “It’s a risky thing to do,” said Bates. “’Ow risky?” asked Sam scornfully. “The dog eats the stuff and dies. Who’s going to say what he died of? As for suspicions, let the old man suspect as much as he likes. It ain’t proof.” The stronger mind had its way, as usual, and the next day the skipper, coming quietly on deck, was just in time to see Joe Bates throw down a fine fat bloater in front of the now amiable Rupert. He covered the distance between himself and the dog in three bounds, and seizing it by the neck, tore the fish from its eager jaws and held it aloft. “I just caught ’im in the act!” he cried, as the mate came on deck. “What did you give that to my dog for?” he inquired of the conscience-stricken Bates. “I wanted to make friends with him,” stammered the other. “It’s poisoned, you rascal, and you know it,” said the skipper vehemently. “Wish I may die, sir,” began Joe. “That’ll do,” said the skipper harshly. “You’ve tried to poison my dog.” “I ain’t,” said Joe firmly. “You ain’t been trying to kill ’im with a poisoned bloater?” demanded the skipper. “Certainly not, sir,” said Joe. “I wouldn’t do such a thing. I couldn’t if I tried.” “Very good then,” said the skipper; “if it’s all right you eat it, and I’ll beg your pardon.” “I ain’t goin’ to eat after a dog,” said Joe, shuffling. “The dog’s as clean as you are,” said the skipper. “I’d sooner eat after him than you.” “Well, you eat it then, sir,” said Bates desperately. “If it’s poisoned you’ll die, and I’ll be ’ung for it. I can’t say no fairer than that, can I?” There was a slight murmur from the men, who stood by watching the skipper with an air of unholy expectancy.