We took steamer from Totnes to Dartmouth. There are two classes aboard, “saloon” and “second,” and there is but threepence difference between the two. But the Wreck, who was paymaster this day, and is ever economically inclined, prudently bought two of the cheaper tickets, “for,” said he, “we are not travelling en grande tenue” (terms for translation may be had on application). So we took our places astern, and in due course arrived off the pontoon at Dartmouth. The Wreck, who was in charge of the pasteboards, handed them up.

“Sixpence more, please,” said the collector.

“What for?” demanded the Wreck.

“You can see the notice,” replied the man; and he pointed to an inscription, “Passengers going abaft the funnel must pay saloon fare.”

“But we didn’t go abaft the funnel,” said the Wreck; “we sat behind all the time.”

“Behind is abaft,” remarked the collector....

The Wreck paid the sixpence. “But,” said he, “I wish, next time you paint your boat, you would write up decent English instead of your confounded nautical slang, which no fellow can understand.” And so, as Pepys might have said, into Dartmouth, where we lay at the King’s Head.