Oh Dear, The Captain is really angry, Squeaky. And his teeth are chattering. That's not good, is it? I am an angel
but even I fear to tread. In the water, I mean. To release him, I mean. Maybe we should throw a bag over his head so he can't see us as we approach.
Does the Danish Chef have any sacks left over from his trip to the Baltic Sea? Nothing too nice, you know, since it's going to get wet or maybe even chewed. The one that held the herring?
That's good. Go fetch it. I will sing for him in the meantime. Maybe it will soothe him.
