LITMIR.BIZ

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from his prison, the two animals were carefully compared.

      “They’re as like as two lumps o’ coal,” said Sam slowly. “Lord, what a joke on the old man. I must tell the mate o’ this; he’ll enjoy it.”

      “It’ll be all right if the parrot don’t die,” said the dainty pessimist, still harping on his pet theme. “All that bread spoilt, and two cats aboard.”

      “Don’t mind what he ses,” said Sam; “you’re a brick, that’s what you are. I’ll just make a few holes in the lid o’ the boy’s chest, and pop old Satan in. You don’t mind, do you, Billy?”

      “Of course he don’t,” said the other men indignantly.

      Matters being thus agreeably arranged, Sam got a gimlet, and prepared the chest for the reception of its tenant, who, convinced that he was being put out of the way to make room for a rival, made a frantic fight for freedom.

      “Now get something ‘eavy and put on the top of it,” said Sam, having convinced himself that the lock was broken; “and, Billy, put the noo cat in the paint-locker till we start; it’s home-sick.”

      The boy obeyed, and the understudy was kept in durance vile until they were off Limehouse, when he came on deck and nearly ended his career there and then by attempting to jump over the bulwark into the next garden. For some time he paced the deck in a perturbed fashion, and then, leaping on the stern, mewed plaintively as his native city receded farther and farther from his view.

      “What’s the matter with old Satan?” said the mate, who had been let into the secret. “He seems to have something on his mind.”

      “He’ll have something round his neck presently,” said the skipper grimly.

      The prophecy was fulfilled some three hours later, when he came up on deck ruefully regarding the remains of a bird whose vocabulary had once been the pride of its native town. He threw it overboard without a word, and then, seizing the innocent cat, who had followed him under the impression that it was about to lunch, produced half a brick attached to a string, and tied it round his neck. The crew, who were enjoying the joke immensely, raised a howl of protest.

      “The Skylark’ll never have another like it, sir,” said Sam solemnly. “That cat was the luck of the ship.”

      “I don’t want any of your old woman’s yarns,” said the skipper brutally. “If you want the cat, go and fetch it.”

      He stepped aft as he spoke, and sent the gentle stranger hurtling through the air. There was a “plomp” as it reached the water, a bubble or two came to the surface, and all was over.

      “That’s the last o’ that,” he said, turning away.

      The old man shook his head. “You can’t kill a black cat for nothing,” said he, “mark my words!”

      The skipper, who was in a temper at the time, thought little of them, but they recurred to him vividly the next day. The wind had freshened during the night, and rain was falling heavily. On deck the crew stood about in oilskins, while below, the boy, in his new capacity of gaoler, was ministering to the wants of an ungrateful prisoner, when the cook, happening to glance that way, was horrified to see the animal emerge from the fo’c’sle. It eluded easily the frantic clutch of the boy as he sprang up the ladder after it, and walked leisurely along the deck in the direction of the cabin. Just as the crew had given it up for lost it encountered Sam, and the next moment, despite its cries, was caught up and huddled away beneath his stiff clammy oilskins. At the noise the skipper, who was talking to the mate, turned as though he had been shot, and gazed wildly round him.

      “Dick,” said he, “can you hear a cat?”

      “Cat!” said the mate, in accents of great astonishment.

      “I thought I heard it,” said the puzzled skipper.

      “Fancy, sir,” said Dick firmly, as a mewing, appalling in its wrath, came from beneath Sam’s coat.

      “Did you hear it, Sam?” called the skipper, as the old man was moving off.

      “Hear what, sir?” inquired Sam respectfully, without turning round.

      “Nothing,” said the skipper, collecting himself. “Nothing. All right.”

      The old man, hardly able to believe in his good fortune, made his way forward, and, seizing a favourable opportunity, handed his ungrateful burden back to the boy.

      “Fancy you heard a cat just now?” inquired the mate casually.

      “Well, between you an’ me, Dick,” said the skipper, in a mysterious voice, “I did, and it wasn’t fancy neither. I heard that cat as plain as if it was alive.”

      “Well, I’ve heard of such things,” said the other, “but I don’t believe ‘em. What a lark if the old cat comes back climbing up over the side out of the sea to-night, with the brick hanging round its neck.”

      The skipper stared at him for some time without speaking. “If that’s your idea of a lark,” he said at length, in a voice which betrayed traces of some emotion, “it ain’t mine.”

      “Well, if you hear it again,” said the mate cordially, “you might let me know. I’m rather interested in such things.”

      The skipper, hearing no more of it that day, tried hard to persuade himself that he was the victim of imagination, but, in spite of this, he was pleased at night, as he stood at the wheel, to reflect on the sense of companionship afforded by the look-out in the bows. On his part the look-out was quite charmed with the unwonted affability of the skipper, as he yelled out to him two or three times on matters only faintly connected with the progress of the schooner.

      The night, which had been dirty, cleared somewhat, and the bright crescent of the moon appeared above a heavy bank of clouds, as the cat, which had by dint of using its back as a lever at length got free from that cursed chest, licked its shapely limbs, and came up on deck. After its stifling prison, the air was simply delicious.

      “Bob!” yelled the skipper suddenly.

      “Ay, ay, sir!” said the look-out, in a startled voice.

      “Did you mew?” inquired the skipper.

      “Did I WOT, sir?” cried the astonished Bob.

      “Mew,” said the skipper sharply, “like a cat?”

      “No, sir,” said the offended seaman. “What ‘ud I want to do that for?”

      “I don’t know what you want to for,” said the skipper, looking round him uneasily. “There’s some more rain coming, Bob.”

      “Ay, ay, sir,” said Bob.

      “Lot o’ rain we’ve had this summer,” said the skipper, in a meditative bawl.

      “Ay, ay, sir,” said Bob. “Sailing-ship on the port bow, sir.”

      The conversation dropped, the skipper, anxious to divert his thoughts, watching the dark mass of sail as it came plunging out of the darkness into the moonlight until it was abreast of his own craft. His eyes followed it as it passed his quarter, so that he saw not the stealthy approach of the cat which came from behind the companion, and sat down close by him. For over thirty hours the animal had been subjected to the grossest indignities at the hands of every man on board the ship except one. That one was the skipper, and there is no doubt but that its subsequent behaviour was a direct recognition of that fact. It rose to its feet, and crossing over to the unconscious skipper, rubbed its head affectionately and vigorously against his leg.

      From simple causes great events do spring. The skipper sprang four yards, and let off a screech which was the subject of much comment on the barque which had just passed. When Bob, who came shuffling up at the double, reached him he was leaning against the side, incapable of speech, and shaking all over.

      “Anything wrong, sir?” inquired the seaman anxiously, as he ran to the wheel.

      The skipper pulled himself together a bit, and got closer to his companion.

      “Believe

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