“WAL, I swow!” exclaimed Captain Breeze, as he came to the break of the poop the morning after the Northern Light had dropped down the bay to await the tide before putting to sea. The object that had called forth this remark was the figure of a very pretty and strongly built woman, dressed in a close-fitting brown dress with a white apron, standing at the galley door waiting to receive the breakfast things from the “doctor,” who was busy with the morning meal inside.

It was quite early and the mates were forward getting the men to the windlass. The tug was alongside waiting to take the tow as soon as the anchor came to the cat-head. The passengers were still below in their bunks and the skipper had only just turned out. He was bound out on a long voyage to the West Coast, and both he and his mates had enjoyed a more than usually convivial time the evening before. This accounted for the skipper not having seen his stewardess until the next morning, for she had come aboard quietly and had gone unperceived to her state-room in the forward cabin. He had asked for a good stewardess this voyage, for he had several female passengers. The company had evidently tried to accommodate him, for this girl certainly looked everything that was good and nothing bad. He stood gazing at her in amazement. Stewardesses on deep-water ships were not of this breed. Forward, the men manned the brakes, and a lusty young fellow looking aft from the clew of his eye caught a glimpse of the vision at the galley door and broke forth, all hands joining in the chorus,—

The rising sun shone upon the white topsails hanging in the buntlines and glittered upon the brass binnacle and companion-rail. In the bright light the hair of the young woman at the galley door looked like burnished copper or a deep red gold. The curve of her rosy cheek was perfect, and every now and then the skipper caught a glimpse of red lips and a gleam of white teeth.

“Wal, I swow!” he exclaimed again.

“Anchor’s short, sir!” came the hoarse cry of Mr. Enlis from the head of the top-gallant-forecastle.

“Sink me if that ain’t the all-aroundest, fore an’ aft, alow an’ aloft, three skysail-yard, close-sailin’ little clipper I——”

“Anchor’s short, sir!” came Garnett’s bawl from the capstan.

“——I ever see,” continued the skipper, completely deaf and lost to everything else.

“Stand by to take the line!” roared Mr. Enlis to the tow-boat.

He was a cool, collected, and extremely profane mate, and he saw in an instant that if the tug did not get the ship’s head she would swing around with the sea-breeze and be standing up the harbor with the tide.

As it was, she kept paying off so long that the natural sailorly instinct, alive in every true deep-water navigator as to a sudden change of bearings, asserted itself in the skipper and brought him out of his dream with a start. His vision faded, and in its place he saw his vessel swinging towards Staten Island, her topsails filling partly as they hung.

“What’s the matter for’ard?” he roared. “Wake up, you——,” and he let drive a volley of oaths which for descriptive power stood far and away above any of that extensive collection of words found in the English dictionary. Had Mr. Garnett been of a literary turn of mind he might have noted them down for future reference, but he apparently did not appreciate their depth and power, for he caught them up carelessly as they came and flung them into the faces of the crew with no concern whatever.

No one was affected much by this outburst, but after the skipper had taken pains to explain that his mates and crew were all sons of female dogs, and that they had inherited a hundred other bad things besides low descent from their ancestors, he subsided a little and another voice was heard from the main-deck.

“That’s right, old man; don’t mind me. Cuss them out, I shan’t pay any attention. I’ll get used to your tune, even if I don’t to your words,” cried the pretty girl from the galley door, smiling up at him.

Jimmy Breeze looked down upon the main-deck from the break of the poop. Then he scratched his head, first on one side and then on the other. Never before in the twenty years he had followed deep water had he ever heard of a stewardess addressing a captain like this. Had she been old and ugly a belaying-pin would have found itself flying through the air in the direction of her head. But this beautiful, gentle young girl!

It was too much for the skipper, so he turned slowly upon his heel and walked aft with the air of a much disturbed man, muttering incoherently to himself.

At three bells in the morning the female passengers had their breakfast served in the saloon. The skipper happened to be in his room adjoining and could hear the praise bestowed upon his stewardess by Mrs. O’Hara, the Misses O’Hara, and Mrs. McCloud.

“A perfect jewel,” affirmed the latter, while “Carrie” was forward getting her tea. “I really don’t think we could make a voyage without her.”

“And so beautiful and good,” said the Misses O’Hara.

“Faith, tu be sure, she’s a rale saint av a gurl,” added Mrs. O’Hara, just as she appeared with the tea things. “An’, Carrie, me gurl, d’ye like th’ sea that ye follow it alone, so to spake?” she continued, addressing the stewardess.

“Yes, indeed, ma’am. But it’s not alone I am entirely, for surely the captain is the finest I ever saw, and they told me he was a father to his crew. He’s a man after my own heart.”

“Humph!” growled Jimmy Breeze in the solitude of his state-room. He thought his stewardess was not only very pretty, but an extremely discerning young woman. It was, however, this very perfection in appearance and deportment that caused trouble this morning, for when “Bill,” the cabin boy, passed the stewardess in the alley-way he was quite overcome by the vision of loveliness. He had some of the dinner things for the officers’ mess, and when he turned suddenly at the door, a heavy lurch of the vessel sent him against the coamings. This had the effect of throwing the things scattering to leeward about the feet of Mr. Enlis.

“You holy son of Belial!” roared the mate. And he continued to curse him loudly until Mr. Garnett came up.

“Whang him!” grunted the second officer, shortly. “Whang the lights out of him, the burgoo-eating, lazy,” etc.

Mr. Enlis had seized the unfortunate “Bill” by the slack of his coat and had yanked him to the mast to “whang” him, when the form of the stewardess appeared at the door of the forward cabin.

The mate laid on one good whang, when he was interrupted by the remark, “Soak it to him; don’t mind me, I’ll get used to hearing him pipe.” And the pretty girl smiled pleasantly.

“Ye had better go below, missie, for there’s a-going to be a little hee-hawing for’ards. Come back again soon,” said Garnett, with a leer.

“Not exactly, while the fun lasts,” answered Miss Carrie.

But, somehow, the mate could not curse loud enough to keep his temper up before the young girl, and he ended matters by giving Bill a kick that sent him to leeward, where he landed in the mess-kit. Then the mate touched his forelock to Miss Carrie and went forward muttering something about there being no discipline aboard a boat with wimmen folks around. Garnett balanced himself upon his short bow-legs to the heave of the ship, which was now well off shore, and took his cap in his hand while he mopped a deep, greasy dent in the top of his bald head. Then he took out a vial of peppermint salts and sniffed loudly at it, looking out of the clew of his eye at the stewardess. “Holy smoke an’ blazes, but she’s a craft to sail with! To think of a tender-hearted young gurl like that wanting to see a man whanged.” And he went forward like a man in a dream.

Each time during the following days when the oaths flew thick and fast from poop or forecastle, Miss Carrie appeared upon the scene and cheered on the contestants. It was simply uncanny to see the fresh young girl telling the skipper or mates to “go ahead and cuss them out,” or “don’t mind me, boys, I’ll get used to it.” They could not go on while the young girl stood by. Once Enlis continued to use foul language before her, but two or three groans and hisses made his face flush for the very shame of it. He threatened to kill every man who uttered a sound, and seized a belaying-pin to carry out his design, but a laugh from the galley door drove him into a frenzy, and he sent the pin flying at the girl’s head. He was instantly reported to the skipper for his brutal conduct and had the satisfaction of being knocked down by that truculent commander, barely escaping forward with his life.

“He’s a real captain,” said Miss Carrie to the O’Haras, whenever she thought the skipper was in his state-room and could hear. She was a very pretty girl, and what she said was seldom lost entirely.

Day after day life grew quieter on board the Northern Light. There was no help for it. And while life grew quieter, so likewise did Jimmy Breeze, the skipper. He was just “losing his tone,” as Mr. McCloud expressed it. He sometimes burst forth at odd moments, but the presence of his stewardess usually ended the flare into deep mutterings.

One morning he came on the poop and joined his passengers.

“There’s no use denyin’ it,” he said, “cussin’s wrong, and that young gurl shan’t be exposed to it no more. She’s a-tryin’ not to mind the rough words; but, sink me, any one can tell how they effects her, young and innercent as she is. Things is goin’ much better this v’yage, and blast me if I allows any d—d swab to shoot off his bazoo in my hearing. No, sir; if there’s any cussin’ to be done, I’ll do it. Yes, sir, I’ll do it; and I’ll whang the lights out of any d—d junk-eating son of a sea-cook aboard here I catches,—an’ I don’t make no exceptions for passengers.”

Here he glared at Mr. O’Hara, but that gentleman appeared absorbed in the weather-leach of the main-top-sail.

“An’ I don’t make no exceptions for passengers,” repeated the skipper, still glaring at the small and inoffensive O’Hara, who stared vacantly aloft. Then the skipper went aft to the wheel and noted the ship’s course.

Within another week after this speech of Captain Breeze’s a change had come over the ship’s company almost equal to that which had physically come over Mr. Garnett, whose long, flowing jet-black mustaches had now given place to a natural growth of stubbly, grizzly beard and whiskers. But of course the change of ships’ morals did not cause as much comment after the skipper had repeated his remarks in regard to swearing to the mates. Mr. Garnett’s private affairs were always of a nature that caused inquisitive and evil-disposed persons much interest, whereas the ship’s company interested no one, unless it was the stewardess.

As there was war on the West Coast of South America between Chile and Peru, the Northern Light carried her specie in the captain’s safe, as drafts and exchanges were difficult to negotiate. Captain Breeze was a careful and determined skipper and he had the confidence of the owners. He was a bachelor, but he debauched in moderation,—that is, in moderation for a deep-water sailor. Therefore it was something over ten thousand dollars in negotiable form that he carried in the small steel safe lashed to the deck beside his capacious bunk.

On the days he opened his “slop-chest” to sell nigger-head tobacco which cost him seven cents a pound for ninety, and shoes which cost him thirty cents a pair for two dollars and a half, he took pride in opening the steel doors and displaying his wealth to the stupid gaze of the men. The men were not forced to pay the prices he asked for his stores, but it was a case of monopoly. They could go without tobacco or shoes for all he cared. When they had done so for a short time they usually accepted matters as they were and signed on for both at any price he had the hardihood to demand. Oil-skins and sou’westers usually took a whole month’s pay, but that was no affair of his. If the men wished to go wet they could do so. He had no fear that they would attempt to crack his safe or steal his stores, for behind the safe and within easy reach of his strong hand stood his Winchester rifle loaded full of cartridges.

Mr. McCloud and Mr. O’Hara often had the pleasure of viewing the ship’s wealth, for there were occasions when the skipper’s temper was sufficiently mellow to allow them in his room that they might marvel at his power. He seldom failed to impress them. When the Northern Light had crossed the line he had impressed them into such a state of high respect for himself, and had subdued their own spirits so far, that he actually began to make their acquaintance. He would now hold conversation with them, but always in a tone of immeasurable and hopeless superiority. During this period the moral tone of the crew had likewise risen accordingly.

Garnett marvelled greatly during his watch below, and at night when on deck he could be seen walking to and fro in the light of the tropic moon, mopping the dent in his bald head and sniffing hard at his little vial. The change was dreadful to the old sailor’s nerves.

Mr. Enlis went about his duties silently, muttering strange sounds when things went wrong. The skipper’s promise to “whang the lights out” of any one caught swearing had had its effect.

One warm morning, after breakfast, the skipper invited McCloud and O’Hara below to try some beer. This feeling of good fellowship, starting as it did under impressive surroundings, developed into one of real confidence within a very short time. Mr. O’Hara had pronounced the hot, flat beer the best he had ever tasted, and McCloud had affirmed without an oath that he told nothing but the truth.

“Th’ only wan av all th’ saints that cud come within a mile av it,” said O’Hara, “is that paragin av goodness and all the virtues, me own old woman, Molly. She kin make beer.”

“Ah, the blessings of a good lassie!” said McCloud, holding his mug at arm’s length. “Captain, ye have me pity, fra I weel ken ye need it, being as ye are a puir lonely sailor-man. I drink to ye, sir, with much feeling——”

“An’ hope as ye will not be always be sich,” interrupted O’Hara.

Jimmy Breeze sat silent and sullen upon his safe, glaring at his passengers over the rim of his mug each time he raised it to his lips. At the end of the sixth measure he dashed the mug upon the deck and swore loudly for nearly a minute, and his guests were wondering what had happened.

“I’ll not be any d—d sich any longer!” he roared. “I’ve stood it long enough, s’help me.”

O’Hara put down his mug and edged towards the cabin door, and McCloud was in the act of following his example when Breeze sprang forward and locked it, putting the key in his pocket.

“Sit down, you swabs, and give me your advice. You can’t leave here till you do; so take your time and lay me a straight course.”

“What’s—what’s the matter?” gasped O’Hara.

The skipper seated himself on top of his safe.

“It’s like this,” he said. “Here I’m bound for the West Coast in cargo and passengers, likely to be at sea four months or more, and here I am bound to get married even if I have to run the bleeding hooker clear back to Rio to have it done.”

“Whew!” said McCloud.

“Whew!” said O’Hara.

“What I wants is advice. Shall I lay a course back to the Brazils and cross the hawse of some shaved-headed priest, or put into the river Plate and have her own kind of sky-pilot do the job? She lays she won’t have no shave-head splice her, and it’s a good three weeks’ run to the river, to say nothing of the danger of the Pompero this time o’ year. Ain’t there any way to make her ’bout ship an’ head her on the right tack, or have I got to be slanting about this d—d ocean until I get to be an old man?”

“What wud ye loike us to do?” asked O’Hara.

“Do!” roared Breeze. “If I knew, do you suppose I’d ask you? I’d make you do it so infernal quick you——”

“Or whang yer lights out, ye insolent man,” said McCloud, turning upon him.

“Well, well, I’m no priest,” said the repentant O’Hara.

“No more ye ken, Mickey, me boy; na is it the likes o’ you as will be o’ service in this case. Now, ye know, Mickey, I knows law, and I always have told ye the skipper of a vessel is a law to himself. Ain’t that be the truth, sir?” he asked, turning to the captain.

Captain Breeze nodded.

“That being the case, I know a skipper can marry people, perform religious worship, and do all manner o’ things aboard ships off soundings, as the saying is.”

The skipper nodded encouragingly from the safe.

“That being the case,” says I, “there’s no reason or being or state as can keep him fra marrying this minute if—if he wants to.”

“I know that all right,” said Breeze; “but who’s to marry me?”

“I don’t happen to be able to guess the leddie’s name,” said McCloud.

“D—n the lady! Who’s to marry me? That’s what I want to know,” roared the skipper.

“Why, the leddie will marry you, and you will marry the leddie to yourself, I presume. We are both married, O’Hara and me.”

The skipper sat glaring at his passengers, while he repeatedly damned the lady, the priests, the passengers, and all else connected with the affair.

“You infernal cross-checkered sea-lawyer, how can I marry myself? How can I marry myself and the girl too? Answer me that, sir,” and he glared at McCloud.

“Sure, ’tis aisy enough, a little bit av a thing loike that, sur,” said O’Hara. “Mac is right, an’ he has the lure strong an’ fast in his books foreninst th’ state-room.”

“I’ll get the law and read it to ye so ye may ken it, ye hard-headed sailor-man,” said McCloud, somewhat ruffled, and he started for the door. The skipper unlocked it and let him out, holding O’Hara as hostage against his return.

In a few minutes McCloud came back with several leather-covered books, and, seating himself, opened one of them and began his search for authority.

“Here it is,” he said, at length, while the skipper sat and looked curiously at him. “Here’s law for ye, an’ good law at that. Just as binding as any law ever writ.”

O’Hara nodded at the skipper and smiled an “I told you so.”

Jimmy Breeze came over to his passenger and looked over his shoulder sheepishly. McCloud read, “And therefore be it enacted, that all such masters of vessels when upon the high seas on voyages lasting one month or more shall have authority to perform such services upon such members of the ship’s company as they may see fit; provided that notice of the consent of the contracting parties has been previously given, etc.”

“Wal, I swow!” said Breeze, after a short pause.

“Get married first,” suggested O’Hara, draining one of the mugs.

“Sink me if I don’t pull off the affair before eight bells, and if I find your infernal book is wrong, blast me if I don’t ram the insides of its law down your throat and whang your hide off with the leather cover,” said the skipper, hopefully.

“’Tis good, rale good lure,” muttered O’Hara, looking for more beer. “Who’s th’ leddy?”

Although no one had mentioned the name of the fair stewardess for fear of precipitating an outburst on the part of the skipper, no doubt was felt by the passengers that she was the object of the skipper’s affections. His contempt for the O’Haras in general precluded the possibility of a match with either of the young ladies of that prosperous family. Besides, they both had pug-noses and were exceedingly well freckled. The beauty of Miss Carrie had long been observed to have had its effect upon Captain Breeze; so his answer to O’Hara’s apparently hopeful question caused the latter little real disappointment, although he may have had secret ambitions.

“Seems to me ye might give the lassie some notion of your hurry, especially if it’s going to happen so soon. The puir child na kens your purpose, no doubt,” said McCloud.

“Faith, I think ye right, Mac. I gave th’ owld gal nigh six months tu git ready in——”

“Six thunder!” growled Breeze. “I mean to get married afore eight bells, at high noon, according to good English law, and if you fellows want to help you can get your wives and darters to bear a hand.” They went into the saloon, where they found Carrie fixing the table for dinner.

The skipper hitched up his trousers impressively while his passengers stood at either hand.

“Carrie,” said he, solemnly, “we’ll stand by to tack ship at seven bells,—an’—an’—and after that we’ll make the rest of the voyage in company. Hey? How does that strike you, my girl?”

“Mercy! What a man you are, Captain Breeze!” said Carrie, blushing crimson. “Sure it’s sort of sudden like.”

“You’ll have half an hour to get ready in,” said the skipper.

“Plenty of time,” chimed in McCloud.

“An’ an aisy toime iver afterwards as th’ capt’in’s leddy,” said O’Hara, with dignity.

“But who’s to marry us?” asked the maiden, shyly, glancing at the skipper.

“I’m to marry you,” said Jimmy Breeze. “It’s law and it’s all right. I’m master of this here hooker, and what I says goes aboard, or ashore either, for that matter. It’s put down in that yaller book, an’ it’s law.”

“Land sakes! I never could, Captain Breeze,—really, now, not before these people,—I never could in the world.” And Carrie blushed furiously.

“You passed your word last night, so I holds you in honor bound,” said Breeze, with great fervor. “You have half an hour, so I leaves you.” And he drew himself up and strode to the companion, and so up on the main-deck out of sight.

McCloud and O’Hara, seeing danger ahead, strove with all the power of their persuasive tongues to get the fair girl to listen to reason, or rather law. She was stubborn on the point, however, and the female portion of the O’Hara faction, together with Mrs. McCloud, was brought to bear. These ladies, after expressing their modest astonishment at the skipper’s unseemly haste, immediately, however, vied with each other to argue in his behalf. They were so persuasive in their appeals, and so adroit in painting the picture of Miss Carrie’s future happiness, that in less than a quarter of an hour that refractory young lady gave way in a flood of tears. After this she hastily prepared herself for the ordeal by reading over the marriage service with Miss O’Hara, and things looked propitious for the skipper.

At seven bells that truculent commander promptly put in an appearance, dressed in a tight-fitting coat and cap with gold braid. He was followed below by Mr. Enlis, who looked uncertain and sour. After a short preliminary speech the skipper called the blushing bride to his side as he stood at the head of the cabin table. The book lay open before him, and without further ado he plunged boldly into the marriage service, answering for himself in the most matter-of-fact manner possible. He placed a small gold ring upon the middle finger of his bride’s right hand, which she dexterously removed and transferred to her left, and after the ceremony was over he glared around at the assembled company as if inviting criticism.

No one had the hardihood to venture upon any. Then the paper which was to do duty as certificate was drawn up by the clerky McCloud and was duly signed by all present. It was afterwards transferred to the skipper’s safe. Whiskey and water was produced for the men and ale for the ladies, and before long even the sour mate was heard holding forth in full career by the envious Mr. Garnett, who was forced to stand watch while his superiors enjoyed themselves. It was a memorable affair for some and immemorable for others, for the next day O’Hara could remember nothing, and Mr. Enlis remembered that he had gotten exceedingly drunk. Much he related to Garnett during the dog-watch, and that worthy rubbed the top of his bald head and sniffed furiously at his vial, swearing softly that the “old man” had made a fool of himself, and that he was accordingly glad of it.

The cruise continued as a cruise should when a bride is aboard ship, and at the end of a fortnight the Northern Light was in the latitude of the river Plate. There had been never an oath uttered since the skipper’s marriage, and the mates had begun to chafe under the restraint. The bride was on deck nearly all the time, and was certain to make remarks and cheer on any attempt at a fracas.

One afternoon the carpenter sounded the well and was astonished to find a foot of water in the hold. The weather had been fine and the vessel steady, so he was at a loss to account for this phenomenon. He sounded again an hour later and found the water had gained six inches. Then he lost no time in reporting the condition of the ship to the captain.

With water gaining six inches an hour, the crew manned the pumps with set faces, appalled at the sudden danger in mid-ocean. Suddenly, however, the pumps “sucked.” An investigation showed the ship was rapidly becoming dry.

The water-tanks were examined and found to be empty, but no leaks in them could be discovered.

To be at sea without water to drink is most dreaded by deep-water sailors, so Jimmy Breeze started his condenser and headed his ship for Buenos Ayres, cursing the fates for the foul luck that would ruin his anticipated quick passage.

His wife consoled him as best she could and lamented her husband’s luck to the passengers. Whereat she received the sympathy of the O’Haras and Mrs. McCloud, and was looked upon as a very unfortunate woman.

“Ah, pore thing! to think av it happening on her honeymoon at that,” cried Mrs. O’Hara.

“The sweet child, trying all she can to help her husband to forget his lost chances for extra freight money. To think of it, and just married at that,” said Mrs. McCloud.

“Pore young sowl,” said Kate O’Hara.

“’Tis a good wife that sticks to her husband in disthress,” said O’Hara.

“Ye ken it’s a jewel he has to be na thinking of money losses,” said McCloud.

Finally the ship made port and anchored off the city to take in water and continue her voyage at the earliest opportunity.

Mrs. O’Hara and Mrs. McCloud insisted on being allowed ashore to see the sights. Captain Breeze would hear of no such thing, but finally, when his bride added her voice to the occasion, he relented, and the ladies went ashore together.

Mrs. Breeze pointed out many places of interest, as she admitted having been there before, and at one of the principal hotels she left the party. She told them not to wait for her, as she would stop and see a friend, but to go down to the landing, where the boat might wait for her after she was through her call.

The day passed gayly, but when the party assembled at the landing, Mrs. Breeze was not there. They never saw her again.

The next day Captain Breeze called Mr. Enlis aft and took him below. When he had him in the privacy of his state-room he pointed to his little safe, and asked him to look through it.

This operation took but a moment, for it was almost entirely empty, and when he was through he looked at the skipper.

“What would you do?” asked Jimmy Breeze, huskily.

“Me?” asked the mate, apparently amazed at the question.

“Yes, you.”

“About what?” asked Enlis, trying to look utterly lost.

“About that gal and the money, blast you!”

“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Enlis, as if a sudden light had flooded the dark recesses of his brain. He remained silent.

“Well, what?” asked the skipper, in real anger.

“I dunno,” said Mr. Enlis, after a long pause. “’Pears to me I wouldn’t let on nothing about it. Mum’s the word, says I.”

“But the money, you swab?” growled the skipper.

“To be sure,” said Enlis. “The money.”

“Well?”

“Well, you might ask the police about the money on the quiet like,” ventured the mate.

“Suppose you and Garnett go ashore and see about it without making any fuss. Garnett is a good one for such matters. It would hardly do for me, seeing as how I stand in the matter of husband.”

“Egg-zactly; we’ll do it right away;” and the mate hastened forward to take advantage of the opportunity.

Garnett and Enlis went ashore with what money they could get, and they entered a description of the missing stewardess with the police. “An old hag with side whiskers, having a wart under her left eye and all her teeth gone,” said Garnett, as he finished. “An’ I hopes you’ll soon find her,” he added, with a leer at the official. “Ye’ll know her by the way she swears.”

Several hours afterwards two exceedingly happy and drunken sailor-men staggered down the street towards the landing. A beggar accosted them, but after a search for coin, they protested they were cleaned out.

“Don’t make no difference. Give me clothes,” whined the mendicant.

“I’d give ye anything, me boy, for a weight is off my mind. Was ye ever married?” cried Garnett.

“Give the pore fellow clothes, Garnett, you swine!” roared Enlis.

Garnett staggered against a house and undid his belt. Then with much trouble he drew off his trousers and stood with his white legs glistening in the moonlight.

“Here, pore fellow. You are a long-shore swab, but I knows by your look ye are married. Take them, blast ye!” And he flung his trousers from him. “This bean-swillin’ mate is too mean to give ye anything.”

“Not I!” bawled Enlis, casting off his belt. “Here, you swivel-eyed land-crab;” and he drew off his trousers likewise and handed them to the beggar.

“Thanky,” hissed the creature, and ran away.

The men in the boat looked up the street towards where they heard singing, and they beheld two very drunken men in flowing jumpers staggering trouserless along, while their voices roared upon the quiet night,—