reat Caesar,
I would have them about me."

"Pardon me," gulped Martin. "I was just thinking how aptly the bosun
described you. ''Ow 'e can chew the rag!' he said. And you can."

"The bosun!" exclaimed the other. "Did I understand you to say 'the
bosun'? Can it be you have met my heart's chum, my dear bosun?"

"You bet I did!" replied Martin emphatically. "And I was lucky to end
the encounter with a whole skin. Hasty man, your dear bosun!"

"'Tis true," admitted Little Billy. "He requires coddling, does my
bosun. Red hair always does. My bosun has a tender heart, and he is a
creature of impulse. Beneath that rough exterior surges the artistic
temperament. But tell me, was the bosun, by any chance, inquiring for
one Little Billy?"

"He was," said Martin. "Not only inquiring for Little Billy, but
weeping for him, fighting for him--and for the larcerated feelings of
the dear mate of the brig _Cohasset_. Of course, I know you are Little
Billy."

"Your perspicacity is remarkable," said Little Billy. "I am
discovered. But your news is disturbing. Tears and temper are
pregnant signs with my redheaded friend. You did not, by any chance,
meet him in the city Bastile?"

Martin sketched for the other the scene at Johnny Feiglebaum's.

"But the bosun had the same misgivings of the police on your account,"
he finished.

"He stated positively you would sleep this night in jail. He gave you
a turbulent character."

"Base libel," asserted Little Billy. "Bosun has imagination, but it
functions within narrow limits. He is solely a son of experience. His
idea of a pleasant and well spent evening ashore, is to introduce into
the physical system an indefinite amount of variously tinted alcohol,
and then to try a brave whirl of fisticuffs with the scorned minions of
the law. To his understanding there is no other way of spending a
holiday. Hence his solicitude for Little Billy. Of course, thinks he,
Little Billy is off alone a-roistering. Why else should he have given
his bosun the slip?"

"Did you give him the slip?" said Martin. "He thinks he mislaid
you--that is a point in his distress. Did you run away from him to
become a book agent?"

"You do not understand," stated the hunchback with dignity. "It was
but a manifestation of the wanderlust, at once the curse and the
blessing of my misshapen existence. Behold in me, sir, the rover, the
argonaut, the adventurer!"

He straightened his slouched