"how's
the wind?"

"Tolerable, comrade, tolerable!"

"Then--why forget the tea?"

"Tea!" said the Sergeant with a guilty start, "why--so I am!--Mr. Bellew
sir,--your pardon!" and, forthwith he began to pour out the tea very
solemnly, but with less precision of movement than usual, and with
abstracted gaze.

"The Sergeant tells me you are a musician," said Bellew, as Peterday
handed him another muffin.

"A musician,--me! think o' that now! To be sure, I do toot on the tin
whistle now and then, sir, such things as 'The British Grenadiers,' and
the 'Girl I left behind me,' for my shipmate, and 'The Bay o' Biscay,'
and 'A Life on the Ocean Wave,' for myself,--but a musician, Lord! Ye
see, sir," said Peterday, taking advantage of the Sergeant's
abstraction, and whispering confidentially behind his muffin, "that
messmate o' mine has such a high opinion o' my gifts as is fair
over-powering, and a tin whistle is only a tin whistle, after all."

"And it is about the only instrument I could ever get the hang of," said
Bellew.

"Why--do you mean as you play, sir?"

"Hardly that, but I make a good bluff at it."

"Why then,--I've got a couple o' very good whistles,--if you're so
minded we might try a doo-et, sir, arter tea."

"With pleasure!" nodded Bellew. But, hereupon, Peterday noticing that
the Sergeant ate nothing, leaned over and touched him upon the shoulder.

"How's the wind, now, Shipmate?" he enquired.

"Why so so, Peterday, fairish! fairish!" said the Sergeant, stirring his
tea round and round, and with his gaze fixed upon the opposite wall.

"Then messmate,--why not a muffin, or even a occasional shrimp,--where
be your appetite?"

"Peterday," said the Sergeant, beginning to stir his tea faster than
ever, and with his eyes still fixed, "consequent upon disparaging
remarks having been passed by one Grimes,--our landlord,--concerning
them as should not be mentioned in a inn parlour--or anywhere else--by
such as said Grimes,--I was compelled to pour--a tankard of beer--over
said Grimes, our landlord,--this arternoon, Peterday, at exactly--twelve
and a half minutes past six, by my watch,--which done,--I ran our
landlord--out into the road, Peterday, say--half a minute later, which
would make it precisely thirteen minutes after the hour. Consequent upon
which, comrade--we have received our marching orders."

"What messmate, is it heave our anchor, you mean?"

"I mean, comrade--that on Saturday next, being