"Ahoy, Darkie!" he cried.
Captain Bligh, who was creeping slowly aft, halted, and, clenching his fists, regarded him ferociously.
"Give this to the skipper, will you, my lad?" said the sergeant, holding up the jacket Bligh had left behind. "Good-looking young man with a very fine moustache he is."
"Was," said his daughter, in a mournful voice.
"And a rather dark complexion," continued the sergeant, grinning madly. "I was going to take him—for stealing my coal—but I thought better of it. Thought of a better way. At least, my daughter did. So long; Darkie."
He kissed the top of a fat middle finger, and, turning away, walked off with Miss Pilbeam. The skipper stood watching them with his head swimming until, arrived at the corner, they stopped and the sergeant came slowly back.
"I was nearly forgetting," he said, slowly. "Tell your skipper that if so be as he wants to apologize—for stealing my coal—I shall be at home at tea at five o'clock."
He jerked his thumb in the direction of Miss Pilbeam and winked with slow deliberation. "She'll be there, too," he added. "Savvy?"