The tall, handsome, fair-haired Webb leaned over the table and spoke to
Staysail almost in a whisper.

"It's the little professor they all blame, sir; and there are four of
them who swear the ship is haunted--that he keeps evil spirits under lock
and key for'ard--"

"But--but--Mr. Webb--Evil spirits under lock and key! Do you mean bad
rum? And who is he?"

"Hush, sir! don't talk so loud. He's walking the deck now. It's the
professor I mean, sir. As to the evil spirits, I've heard them
myself--mutter, mutter, squeak, squeak, squeak! Ugh! it is awful,
sir--awful!"

And the mate shuddered as he spoke.

Now, Staysail was always a good laugher, but at this tale he fairly
yelled with laughter until everything jingled in the cabin, and the tears
ran down his cheeks.

The mate never moved a muscle.

"That awful fore-cabin, sir!" he said. "It's in there, and Broomberg, the
Finlander, declares that if you don't land him and his mates at Bergen
they'll seize the ship and sail for Aberdeen."

"But why on earth don't you open the fore-cabin?"