well set up. Trunnell went to the break of the poop and called out for
the watch to clew down the fore and mizzen skysails. He was much upset at
the skipper's talk, but knew better than to show it. The captain now
turned his attention to the man at the wheel.

"How d'you head, Bill?" said he.

"West b' no'the," said Bill.

The skipper came to the wheel and stuck his lean face close to the
quartermaster's. His glinting eyes grew to two little points and his
hooked nose wrinkled on the sides as he showed his teeth while he drawled
in a snarling tone:--

"D'you set up for a wit, Bill, that you joke with your captain, hey? Is
that it, you square-toed, lantern-jawed swab? Would you like me to rip
you up the back, or lam some of the dirt out of your hide, hey? Is that
it? Don't make jokes at your captain, Bill. It's bad business."

Then he went on in a more conciliating tone:--

"Just remember that I'm a knight of a round table, or square one either,
for that matter, while I'm aboard this boat, and if you forget to mention
my title of 'Sir,' every time you speak of me, you'll want to get your
hide sewed on tight."

"I beg pardon, sir," said Bill, taking a fresh grip upon the spokes with
his great hands.

"That's right, my son; you're a beggar aboard this here boat. Don't