She's no more haunted than I am."

"It's not damned rot," he replied, totally unconvinced. "And it's not an
old shellback's yarn ... Why won't you say you saw it?" he cried,
growing almost tearfully excited, and raising his voice again.

I warned him not to wake the sleepers.

"Why won't you say that you saw it?" he repeated.

I got up from the chest, and went towards the door.

"You're a young idiot!" I said. "And I should advise you not to go
gassing about like this, round the decks. Take my tip, and turn-in and
get a sleep. You're talking dotty. Tomorrow you'll perhaps feel what an
unholy ass you've made of yourself."

I stepped over the washboard, and left him. I believe he followed me to
the door to say something further; but I was half-way forward by then.

For the next couple of days, I avoided him as much as possible, taking
care never to let him catch me alone. I was determined, if possible, to
convince him that he had been mistaken in supposing that he had seen
anything that night. Yet, after all, it was little enough use, as you
will soon see. For, on the night of the second day, there was a further
extraordinary development, that made denial on my part useless.