as interrupted by the master of the house and his son,
who gave me a hearty welcome; the father had been a widower for some
years, and his only son Ned resided with him, and was intended to
succeed to his business as a merchant. We adjourned to dress for
dinner; our bed-rooms were contiguous, and we began to talk of Sir
Hurricane.

"He is a strange mixture," said Ned. "I love him for his good temper;
but I owe him a grudge for making mischief between me and Maria;
besides, he talks balderdash before the ladies, and annoys them very
much."

"I owe him a grudge too," said I, "for sending me to sea in a gale of
wind."

"We shall both be quits with him before long," said Ned; "but let us
now go and meet him at dinner. To-morrow I will set the housekeeper
at him for his cruelty to her cat; and if I am not much mistaken, she
will pay him off for it."

Dinner passed off extremely well. The admiral was in high spirits; and
as it was a bachelor's party, he earned his wine. The next morning we
met at breakfast. When that was over, the master of the house retired
to his office, or pretended to do so. I was going out to walk, but Ned
said I had better stay a few minutes; he had something to say to me;
in fact, he had prepared a treat without my knowing it.

"How did you sleep last night, Sir Hurricane?" said the artful Ned.

"Why, pretty well; considering," said the admiral, "I was not
tormented by that old tom cat. D----n me, Sir, that fellow was like
the Grand Signior, and he kept his seraglio in the garret, over my
bed-room, instead of being at his post in the kitchen, killing the
rats that are running about like coach-horses."

"Sir Hurricane," said I, "it's always unlucky to sailors, if they
meddle with cats. You will have a gale of wind, in some shape or
another, before long."

These words were hardly uttered, when, as if by preconcerted
arrangement, the door opened, and in sailed Mrs Jellybag, the
housekeeper, an elderly woman, somewhere in the latitude of fifty-five
or sixty years. With a low courtesy and contemptuous toss of her head,
she addressed Sir Hurricane Humbug.

"Pray, Sir Hurricane, what have you been doing to my cat?"

The admiral, who prided himself in putting any one who applied to
him on what he called the wrong scent, endeavoured to play off Mrs
Jellybag in the same manner.

"What have I done to your cat, my dear Mrs Jellybag? Why, my dear
Madam" (said he, assuming an air of surprise), "what _