Why, you look as if you'd seen a ghost!" "Well, sir, there is a ghost, or demon, or something aboard of this very ship, and some of the crew are in a state next door to mutiny about it." "What on earth do you mean, Mr.Webb ?" 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 ?" "Oh, that's where it is, sir! The key is lost, or else the professor has it." "Hark!" A squall at that moment struck the ship and heeled her over.