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“The mate’ll get off directly she floats,” continued Tommy. “Put these on and spoil his little game. It’s raining a little now. Nobody’ll see you, and as soon as you git aboard you can borrow some of the men’s clothes.”

“That’s the ticket, cap’n,” said the man. “Lord lumme, you’ll ‘ave everybody falling in love with you.”

“Hurry up,” said Tommy, dancing with impatience. “Hurry up.”

The skipper, dazed and wild-eyed, stood still while his two assistants hastily dressed him, bickering somewhat about details as they did so.

“He ought to be tight-laced, I tell you,” said the man.

“He can’t be tight-laced without stays,” said Tommy scornfully. “You ought to know that.”

“Ho, can’t he,” said the other, discomfited. “You know too much for a young-un. Well, put a bit o’ line round ‘im then.”

“We can’t wait for a line,” said Tommy, who was standing on tip-toe to tie the skipper’s bonnet on. “Now tie the scarf over his chin to hide his beard, and put this veil on. It’s a good job he ain’t got a moustache.”

The other complied, and then fell back a pace or two to gaze at his handiwork. “Strewth, though I sees it as shouldn’t, you look a treat!” he remarked complacently. “Now, young-un, take ‘old of his arm. Go up the back streets, and if you see anybody looking at you, call ‘im Mar.”

The two set off, after the man, who was a born realist, had tried to snatch a kiss from the skipper on the threshold. Fortunately for the success of the venture, it was pelting with rain, and, though a few people gazed curiously at the couple as they went hastily along, they were unmolested, and gained the wharf in safety, arriving just in time to see the schooner shoving off from the side.

At the sight the skipper held up his skirts and ran. “Ahoy!” he shouted. “Wait a minute.”

The mate gave one look of blank astonishment at the extraordinary figure, and then turned away; but at that moment the stern came within jumping distance of the wharf, and uncle and nephew, moved with one impulse leaped for it and gained the deck in safety.

“Why didn’t you wait when I hailed you?” demanded the skipper fiercely.

“How was I to know it was you?” inquired the mate surlily, as he realised his defeat. “I thought it was the Empress of Rooshia.”

The skipper stared at him dumbly.

“An’ if you take my advice,” said the mate, with a sneer, “you’ll keep them things on. I never see you look so well in anything afore.”

“I want to borrow some o’ your clothes, Bob,” said the skipper, eyeing him steadily.

“Where’s your own?” asked the other.

“I don’t know,” said the skipper. “I was took with a fit last night, Bob, and when I woke up this morning they were gone. Somebody must have took advantage of my helpless state and taken ’em.”

“Very likely,” said the mate, turning away to shout an order to the crew, who were busy setting sail.

“Where are they, old man?” inquired the skipper.

“How should I know?” asked the other, becoming interested in the men again.

“I mean YOUR clothes,” said the skipper, who was fast losing his temper.

“Oh, mine?” said the mate. “Well, as a matter o’ fact, I don’t like lending my clothes. I’m rather pertickler. You might have a fit in THEM.”

“You won’t lend ’em to me?” asked the skipper.

“I won’t,” said the mate, speaking loudly, and frowning significantly at the crew, who were listening.

“Very good,” said the skipper. “Ted, come here. Where’s your other clothes?”

“I’m very sorry, sir,” said Ted, shifting uneasily from one leg to the other, and glancing at the mate for support; “but they ain’t fit for the likes of you to wear, sir.” “I’m the best judge of that,” said the skipper sharply. “Fetch ’em up.”

“Well, to tell the truth, sir,” said Ted, “I’m like the mate. I’m only a poor sailor-man, but I wouldn’t lend my clothes to the Queen of England.”