"How d'yer mean?" he asked, speaking for the first time. "'ow do I mean? Well, I can't say. Maybe 'e jammed 'is fingers between ther parrel an' ther mast." "What about 'is swearin' at ther Second Mate? Was that 'cause 'e'd jammed 'is fingers?" put in Quoin. "I never 'eard about that," said Plummer. "'oo 'eard 'im? "I should think heverybody in ther bloomin' ship heard him," Stubbins answered. "All ther same, I hain't sure he _was_ swearin' at ther Second Mate. I thought at first he'd gone dotty an' was cussin' him; but somehow it don't seem likely, now I come to think. It don't stand to reason he should go to cuss ther man. There was nothin' to go cussin' about. What's more, he didn't seem ter be talkin' down to us on deck-- what I could make hout. 'sides, what would he want ter go talkin' to ther Second about his pay-day?" He looked across to where I was sitting. Jock, who was smoking, quietly, on the chest next to me, took his pipe slowly out from between his teeth. "Ye're no far oot, Stubbins, I'm thinkin'. Ye're no far oot," he said, nodding his head. Stubbins still continued to gaze at me. "What's your idee?" he said, abruptly. It may have been my fancy, but it seemed to me that there was something deeper than the mere sense the question conveyed. I glanced at him. I couldn't have said, myself, just what my idea was. "I don't know!" I answered, a little adrift. "He didn't strike me as cursing at the Second Mate. That is, I should say, after the first minute." "Just what I say," he replied. "Another thing--don't it strike you as bein' bloomin' queer about Tom nearly comin' down by ther run, an' then _this?_" I nodded. "It would have been all hup with Tom, if it hadn't been for ther gasket." He paused. After a moment, he went on again. "That was honly three or four nights ago!" "Well," said Plummer. "What are yer drivin' at?" "Nothin'," answered Stubbins. "Honly it's damned queer. Looks as though ther ship might be unlucky, after all." "Well," agreed Plummer. "Things 'as been a bit funny lately; and then there's what's 'appened ter-night. I shall 'ang on pretty tight ther next time I go aloft." Old Jaskett took his pipe from his mouth, and sighed. "Things is going wrong 'most every night," he said, almost pathetically. "It's as diff'rent as chalk 'n' cheese ter what it were w'en we started this 'ere trip. I thought it were all 'ellish rot about 'er bein' 'aunted; but it's not, seem'ly." He stopped and expectorated. "She hain't haunted," said Stubbins. "Leastways, not like you mean--" He paused, as though trying to grasp some elusive thought. "Eh?" said Jaskett, in the interval. Stubbins continued, without noticing the query. He appeared to be answering some half-formed thought in his own brain, rather than Jaskett: "Things is queer--an' it's been a bad job tonight. I don't savvy one bit what Williams was sayin' of hup aloft. I've thought sometimes he'd somethin' on 'is mind--"