"I say, Mr. Second Mate," he said, "I don't see the Plimsoll Mark on
the funnel. Do you?"

"No, captain. I expect it has been washed off."

"If I was you I'd write to the Board of Trade about it."

"Best let sleeping dogs lie, captain."

"Why?"

"Because they might look for yours, and as it ought to be round your
neck they would say you were unseaworthy."

"So you know what it is, you long swab?"

"Yes. Come and have a drink. That will reach your load-line all right."

Royson had hit on the right method of dealing with Stump. The skipper
promised himself some fun, and they descended to the saloon. The
Channel was in boisterous mood, and Dick staggered once or twice in
transit. Stump missed none of this, and became more jovial. Thus might
one of the Hereford stots he resembled approach a green pasture.

"If you ask the steward he'll bring you some belayin' tackle," he said.

"I am a trifle crank just now," admitted Royson, "but when the wind
freshens I'll take in a reef or two."

Stump looked up at him.