pence from
his pocket and handed it to the cook. "Where's your sixpence?"

The cook showed it to him, and Sam, whose faith in human nature had been
largely shaken by a perusal of the detective story referred to, bit it
critically.

"We can't go into pubs without drinkin' in the ordinary way," said the
cook, "so we're goin' in to sell bootlaces, like the chap in the book
did. Now do you see?"

"Why not try something cheaper first?" growled Sam--"measurin'
footmarks, or over-'earing fellers talking? It's just like you, cookie,
doin' expensive things."

Under the cook's glance of silent scorn he became first restive and then
abusive, winding up finally by demanding his money back.

"Don't you be a fool!" said the cook coarsely. "You leave it to me."

"And get tied up in a chair with my own bootlaces p'raps," said the
irritated seaman.

The cook, affecting not to hear him, looked out for a boot-shop, and
having found one, walked in, followed by the discontented Sam, and
purchased a shilling's-worth of laces.

"Wot am I to say?" demanded Sam surlily, as they stood outside, and the
cook hung half a dozen laces over his arm.

"You needn't say anything," replied the cook. "Just walk in an' 'old 'em
up in the people's faces, an' if anybody offers you a drink you may 'ave
it."

"Thank you for nothin'," said Sam, with prophetic insight.

"You take all the pubs this side of the 'igh Street an' I'll take the
other," said the cook. "And if you look as cheerful as you look now you
ought to take a lot o' money."

He turned away, and with a farewell caution against drinking, set off.
The stout seaman, with a strong distaste for his job, took the laces in
his hand and bent his steps in the direction of a small but noisy tavern
in the next street. The public bar was full, and Sam's heart failed him
as he entered it, and, bearing the cook's instructions in mind, held up
his wares to the customers. Most of them took no notice, and the only
man who said anything to him was a red-nosed sergeant of marines, who,
setting his glass with great deliberation on the counter, gazed fixedly
at a dozen laces crawling over his red sleeve. His remarks, when he
discovered their connection with Sam, were of a severe and sweeping
character, and contained not the slightest reference to a drink.

In the next bar he met a philanthropist who bought up his whole
stock-in-trade. The stout seaman was utterly unprepared for such
kindness, and stood