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“Mornin’, sir,” said Bill, shuffling up. “We’d like to know, sir, me an’ Tommy, whether we can have our rations for dinner served out now same as before?”

“Dinner?” said the skipper in surprise. “What do you want dinner for?”

“Eat,” said Bill, eyeing him reproachfully.

“Eat?” said the skipper. “What’s the good o’ giving dinner to a ghost? Why you’ve got nowhere to put it.”

By dint of great self-control Bill smiled in a ghastly fashion, and patted his stomach.

“All air,” said the skipper turning away.

“Can we have our clothes and things then?” said Bill grinding his teeth. “Ned says as how you’ve got ’em.”

“Certainly not,” said the skipper. “I take ’em home and give ’em to your next o’ kin. That’s the law, ain’t it, Bob?”

“It is,” said the mate.

“They’ll ‘ave your effects and your pay up to the night you committed suicide,” said the skipper.

“We didn’t commit sooicide,” said Bill; “how could we when we’re standing here?”

“Oh, yes, you did,” said the other. “I’ve got your letters in my pocket to prove it; besides, if you didn’t I should give you in charge for desertion directly we get to port.”

He exchanged glances with the mate, and Bill, after standing first on one leg and then on the other, walked slowly away. For the rest of the morning he stayed below setting the smaller ghost a bad example in the way of language, and threatening his fellows with all sorts of fearful punishments.

Until dinner-time the skipper heard no more of them, but he had just finished that meal and lit his pipe when he heard footsteps on the deck, and the next moment old Ned, hot and angry, burst into the cabin.

“Bill’s stole our dinner, sir,” he panted unceremoniously.

“Who?” inquired the skipper coldly.

“Bill, sir, Bill Smith,” replied Ned.

“Who?” inquired the skipper more coldly than before.

“The ghost o’ Bill Smith,” growled Ned, correcting himself savagely, “has took our dinner away, an’ him an’ the ghost o’ Tommy Brown is a sitting down and boltin’ of it as fast as they can bolt.”

“Well, I don’t see what I can do,” said the skipper lazily. “What ‘d you let ’em for?”

“You know what Bill is, sir,” said Ned. “I’m an old man, cook’s no good, and unless Simpson has a bit o’ raw beef for his eyes, he won’t be able to see for a week.”

“Rubbish!” said the skipper jocularly. “Don’t tell me, three men all afraid o’ one ghost. I shan’t interfere. Don’t you know what to do?”

“No, sir,” said Ned eagerly.

“Go up and read the Prayer-book to him, and he’ll vanish in a cloud of smoke,” said the skipper.

Ned gazed at him for a moment speechlessly, and then going up on deck leaned over the side and swore himself faint. The cook and Simpson came up and listened respectfully, contenting themselves with an occasional suggestion when the old man’s memory momentarily failed him.

For the rest of the voyage the two culprits suffered all the inconvenience peculiar to a loss of citizenship. The skipper blandly ignored them, and on two or three occasions gave great offence by attempting to walk through Bill as he stood on the deck. Speculation was rife in the forecastle as to what would happen when they got ashore, and it was not until Northsea was sighted that the skipper showed his hand. Then he appeared on deck with their effects done up neatly in two bundles, and pitched them on the hatches. The crew stood and eyed him expectantly.

“Ned,” said the skipper sharply.

“Sir,” said the old man.

“As soon as we’re made fast,” said the other, “I want you to go ashore for me and fetch an undertaker and a policeman. I can’t quite make up my mind which we want.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” murmured the old man.

The skipper turned away, and seizing the helm from the mate took his ship in. He was so intent upon this business that he appeared not to notice the movements of Bill and Tommy as they edged nervously towards their bundles, and waited impatiently for the schooner to get alongside the quay. Then he turned to the mate and burst into a loud laugh as the couple, bending suddenly, snatched up their bundles, and, clambering up the side ashore and took to their heels. The mate too, and a faint but mirthless echo came from the other end of the schooner.