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He leaned back on the locker and smacked his lips. There was a faint laugh from one of the crew, and looking up smartly he seemed to be aware for the first time of their presence. “What are you doin’ down here?” he roared. “What do you want?”

“Nothin’, sir,” said the cook. “Only we thought–“

“Get out at once,” vociferated the mate, rising.

“Stay where you are,” said the skipper, sharply.

“George!” said the mate, in the squeaky voice in which he chose to personate the skipper.

“Bring him round, Zingall,” said the skipper, irritably. “I’ve had enough o’ this. I’ll let ‘im know who’s who.”

With a confident smile Zingall got up quietly from the locker, and fixed his terrible gaze on the mate. The mate fell back and gazed at him open-mouthed.

“Who the devil are you staring at?” he demanded, rudely.

Still holding him with his gaze, Zingall clapped his hands together, and stepping up to him blew strongly in his face. The mate, with a perfect scream of rage, picked him up by the middle, and dumping him heavily on the floor, held him there and worried him.

“Help!” cried Zingall, in a smothered voice; “take him off!”

“Why don’t you bring him round?” yelled the skipper, excitably. “What’s the good of playing with him?”

Zingall’s reply, which was quite irrelevant, consisted almost entirely of adjectives and improper nouns.

“Blow in ‘is face agin, sir,” said the cook, bending down kindly.

“Take him off!” yelled Zingall; “he’s killing me!”

The skipper flew to the assistance of his friend, but the mate, who was of gigantic strength and stature, simply backed, and crushed him against a bulkhead. Then, as if satisfied, he released the crestfallen Zingall, and stood looking at him.

“Why–don’t–you–bring–him–round?” panted the skipper.

“He’s out of my control,” said Zingall, rising nimbly to his feet. “I’ve heard of such cases before. I’m only new at the work, you know, but I dare say, in a couple of years’ time–“

The skipper howled at him, and the mate, suddenly alive again to the obnoxious presence of the crew, drove them up the companion ladder, and pursued them to the forecastle.

“This is a pretty kettle o’ fish,” said Bradd, indignantly. “Why don’t you bring him round?”

“Because I can’t,” said Zingall, shortly. “It’ll have to wear off.”

“Wear off!” repeated the skipper.

“He’s under a delusion now,” said Zingall, “an’ o’ course I can’t say how long it’ll last, but whatever you do don’t cross him in any way.”

“Oh, don’t cross him,” repeated Bradd, with sarcastic inflection, “and you call yourself a mesmerist.”

Zingall drew himself up with a little pride. “Well, see what I’ve done,” he said. “The fact is, I was charged full with electricity when I came aboard, and he’s got it all now. It’s left me weak, and until my will wears off him he’s captain o’ this ship.”

“And what about me?” said Bradd.

“You’re the mate,” said Zingall, “and mind, for your own sake, you act up to it. If you don’t cross him I haven’t any doubt it’ll be all right, but if you do he’ll very likely murder you in a fit of frenzy, and–he wouldn’t be responsible. Goodnight.”

“You’re not going?” said Bradd, clutching him by the sleeve.

“I am,” said the other. “He seems to have took a violent dislike to me, and if I stay here it’ll only make him worse.”

He ran lightly up on deck, and avoiding an ugly rush on the part of the mate, who had been listening, sprang on to the ladder and hastily clambered ashore.

The skipper, worn and scared, looked up as the bogus skipper came below.

“I’m going to bed, George,” said the mate, staring at him. “I feel a bit heavy. Give me a call just afore high water.”

“Where are you goin’ to sleep?” demanded the skipper.

“Goin’ to sleep?” said the mate, “why, in my state-room, to be sure.”

He took the empty bottle from the table, and opening the door of the state-room, closed it in the face of its frenzied owner, and turned the key in the lock. Then he leaned over the berth, and, cramming the pillow against his mouth, gave way to his feelings until he was nearly suffocated.