The Parson’s Text Her Majesty’s ship Crocodile was anchored in Plymouth Roads one fine Sunday morning, and a couple of seamen had obtained shore leave for the afternoon.

Bill and Abraham (called Abe for short) were jolly good fellows of more than average intelligence, and they determined to enjoy their day to the utmost. To this end they had refused to join the mess at dinner, in order that their appetites might be the keener for the viands at the Royal George, to whose hospitable doors they directed their steps upon landing. Both were rigged out in their best togs, and took their seats at a table with the pleasant consciousness that their personal appearance was just about at high water mark.

“Heave us one o’ them programmes, Sally,” said Bill. “A mighty trim lass you are, if I does tell you so.”

“Me name is Lucy, your honor,” replied the buxom waitress with a smirk, as she placed a bill-of-fare before the twain.

“Married?” asked Bill.

“No, sir. I’ve not yet met me fate,” answered Lucy, demurely.

“Crackey! You must be stage-struck.”

“’Vast there, Bill, and quit your foolin’,” interrupted Abe. “I’m ’ungry. Wot will we ’ave?”

He was considerably older than his companion, and had reached that stage in life when not even the charms of a pretty waitress could make him lose sight of the fact that it was past the time for dinner.

It seemed to Abe that their orders would never arrive, so he spent the time in devouring a bottle of little round pickles which occupied the center of the table. Bill kept trying to attract the attention of a golden haired fairy who was opening numerous bottles of ale in another part of the room, and only desisted when Abe remarked: “Seems to me these ’ere pickles are awful salty.”“Them ain’t pickles, you bloke; them’s holives,” said Bill, grinning.

“Wot’s that but another name for—”

Abe’s answer was cut short by the long-expected appearance of Lucy, and both men were soon doing full justice to the dinner, which included beefsteak and onions, fried sole with anchovy sauce, and a pot of stout; besides half a dozen minor dishes, all of which they relished as only men can who have lived for some time on ship’s stores.

At last Bill said: “Well, Abe, ain’t you most done? I’m full to the hatches.”

“Oh, sir, your honors ’asn’t ’ad the sweets yet,” expostulated Lucy. “We’ve got some lovely tarts, and a duff, and—”

“Duff! Bring us a whole one, quick!” cried Abe.

“We’ve eat too much,” said Bill. “I never thought of the duff, or I wouldn’t have eaten all this other truck. We’ll never be able to finish a whole one.”

“Yes we will, too,” Abe maintained; so the dainty was placed before them, and they fell to with a will. But both soon found that their eyes were larger than their stomachs, and though Abe ate more than his companion, even he had to stop before more than a third of the duff had been dispatched.

“It’s too bad we ’ave to leave it,” he said regretfully.

An alarming idea suddenly struck Bill. “Suppose we ain’t got money enough to pay for all these things we’ve ’ad,” he whispered fearfully. They asked for their reckoning, and alas! Bill’s surmise proved correct.

“If we ’adn’t hordered a whole duff, we’d ’ad money left,” said Abe, “and now wot’s to be done? We ain’t eat a quarter of it.”

Lucy thought of the shilling that Bill had recklessly slipped into her hand unknown to Abe. After a moment’s consideration, she said confidentially, “I’ll leave out the price of the duff, for it’s mostly all left, and very few calls for a whole one. Nobody’ll be the wiser if I brings ’em a piece of this.”

A load was removed from the minds of the sailors, both of whom thanked the fair Lucy fervently, and if Bill had had any money left she would have gotten it. Their table was in a corner near the entrance, and as they rose to go a commotion in the rear of the room attracted Lucy’s attention. Bill was already at the door and Abe about to follow, when the tempting duff again caught his eye. He wavered a minute. “I’ll be blowed if I leaves it,” he muttered, as he unbuttoned his loose blouse.

All hands seemed to be gathering in the back of the large room, and after a stealthy glance to be sure that he was unobserved, Abe seized the remainder of the duff and placed it in his bosom. Then he buttoned up his blouse, drew his loose jacket together as much as possible, and boldly walked out of the door with head well in the air.

Bill was a little uneasy at first upon hearing what his companion had done, though he agreed that the duff would be delicious eating a few hours later. Finally he was rather glad of Abe’s action, and only hoped that Lucy would not get into a scrape on account of it.

They walked along for some time, until they came to a church. Many people were entering, and the sound of the organ announced that services were about to begin.

“Let’s go in, Abe,” said Bill. “We looks decent, I guess, and I ain’t been in a bloomin’ meetin’-house since Mag. Halton’s weddin’, when I was a youngster.”“All right. We’ll cast anchor in this ’ere church for a while. We’ll be safer, too, for I’m kind afeerd of the hofficers of the law nabbing us if we stays on the street.”

They passed through the vestibule and into the church; when an usher took them in tow, and the pair were given seats in the extreme forward part of the edifice—in the second row of pews. Everything seemed strange to Abe and Bill in that dim half-light, and their eyes had scarcely become accustomed to the change from out doors when the grand music of the organ again pealed forth, and the services began with a hymn from the surpliced choir.

The novelty of the scene wore off after half an hour or so, and the exercises began to seem a trifle tiresome.

“There ain’t nothin’ to’t but singin’ and then gettin’ down on your knees, and then jumpin’ up and singin’ again,” whispered Abe. “Awful poor singin’ I calls it, too. I’d like to give ’em a good chorus now—somethin’ like ‘W’isky is the Life of Man’—just to show ’em wot real singin’ is.”

“I can’t say as I admires the parson much, neither,” answered Bill. “He looks almighty severe, he does. I’d hate to sign articles with a craft he was skipper of; he’d hang two or three to the fore yard-arm every morning, just for the fun of the thing.”

“I’m agreed on that, Bill. But look—the old boy’s goin’ up them steps.”

The minister entered the pulpit; the sermon was about to begin.

The members of the congregation settled back in their seats with looks of expectant interest (or resignation) as the reverend gentleman gave a preparatory cough. After adjusting his spectacles and calmly surveying his flock, he announced: “Brethren, my discourse this afternoon will be from the text, ‘Abraham, Abraham, what is in thy bosom?’”

The two sailors convulsively grasped the pew cushions as they exchanged glances of consternation.

“Good G—, Bill!” whispered Abe, “the parson knows I stole that duff!”

Bill sat as though petrified, and the silence in the house of worship was such that you could have heard a pin drop.

After giving the congregation a few seconds to digest his words, the pastor brushed a troublesome fly from his nose, and repeated more slowly and impressively, “Abraham, Abraham, what is in thy bosom?”

This was too much for Abe, who jumped to his feet exclaiming: “You know I’ve got it, parson, so, d— you, take it!”

Suiting the action to the word, he hurled the duff at the astounded minister, and followed by Bill, fled incontinently from the church.