icking his bones."

There was no withstanding such inducements, and I agreed that he should
present me the next day.

Our dialogue was 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
bedrooms 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. Damn me, sir, that fellow was like the Grand
Signior, and he kept his seraglio in the garret over my bedroom, 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 scarcely 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 sa