It had the arms of the city of
Liverpool on it; I don't know why unless because the _Ferndale_ was
registered in Liverpool. It was very thick plate glass. Anyhow, the
upper part got smashed, and directly we had attended to things aloft Mr.
Franklin had set the carpenter to patch up the damage with some pieces of
plain glass. I don't know where they got them; I think the people who
fitted up new bookcases in the captain's room had left some spare panes.
Chips was there the whole afternoon on his knees, messing with putty and
red-lead. It wasn't a neat job when it was done, not by any means, but
it would serve to keep the weather out and let the light in. Clear
glass. And of course I was not thinking of it. I just stooped to pick
up that rope and found my head within three inches of that clear glass,
and--dash it all! I found myself out. Not half an hour before I was
saying to myself that it was impossible to tell what was in people's
heads or at the back of their talk, or what they were likely to be up to.
And here I found myself up to as low a trick as you can well think of.
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