“It strikes me as ’ow ’e’sarter fresh cargo or something,” said a stout old seaman who had joined the cook. “Look ’ow ’e’s dressing nowadays! Why, the cap’n of a steamer ain’t smarter!” “Not so smart, Sam,” said the remaining seaman, who, encouraged by the peaceful aspect of the mate had also drawn near. “I don’t think it’s cargo he’s after, though—cement pays all right.” “It _ain’t_ cargo,” said a small but confident voice. “You clear out!” said old Sam. “A boy o’ your age shovin’ his spoke in when ’is elders is talkin’! What next, I wonder!” “Where am I to clear to? I’m my own end of the ship anyway,” said the youth vindictively. The men started to move, but it was too late. The mate’s latent sense of discipline was roused and he jumped up in a fury. “My——!” he said, “if there ain’t the whole blasted ship’s company aft—every man Jack of ’em! Come down in the cabin, gentlemen, come down and have a drop of Hollands and a cigar apiece. All the riffraff o’ the foc’sle sitting aft and prattling about the skipper like a parcel o’ washerwomen. And smoking, by—! _smoking!_ Well, when the skipper comes aboard he’ll have to get a fresh crew or a fresh mate. I’m sick of it. Why, it might be a barge for all the discipline that’s kept! The boy’s the only sailor among you.” He strode furiously up and down the deck; the cook disappeared into the galley, and the two seamen began to bustle about forward. The small expert who had raised the storm, by no means desirous of being caught in the tail of it, put his pipe in his pocket and looked round for a job. “Come here!” said the mate sternly. The boy came towards him. “What was that you were saying about the skipper?” demanded the other. “I said it wasn’t cargo he was after,” said Henry. “Oh, a lot you know about it!” said the mate. Henry scratched his leg, but said nothing. “A lot you know about it!” repeated the mate in rather a disappointed tone. Henry scratched the other leg. “Don’t let me hear you talking about your superior officer’s affairs again,” said the mate sharply. “Mind that!” “No, sir,” said the boy humbly. “It ain’t my business, o’ course.” “What isn’t your business?” said the mate carelessly. “His,” said Henry. The mate turned away seething, and hearing a chuckle from the galley, went over there and stared at the cook—a wretched being with no control at all over his feelings—for quite five minutes. In that short space of time he discovered that the galley was the dirtiest hole under the sun and the cook the uncleanest person that ever handled food. He imparted his discoveries to the cook, and after reducing him to a state of perspiring imbecility, turned round and rated the men again. Having charged them with insolence when they replied, and with sulkiness when they kept silent, he went below, having secured a complete victory, and the incensed seamen, after making sure that he had no intention of returning, went towards Henry to find fault with _him_.