lks was beginnin'
to do the same. Inside of five minutes, too, all the chatter has died
down, and as I glanced around at the tables I could see that whole crowd
of fancy dressed folks noddin' and beatin' time with their fans and
cigars and fizz glasses. Even the waiters was standin' still, or tiptoin'
so's to take it in.

Ever hear one of them out-of-date music bellows handled by a natural born
artist? Say, I've always been partial to accordions myself, though I
never had the courage to own up to it in public; but this was the first
time I'd ever heard one pumped in that classy fashion.

Music! Why, as he switches off onto "The Old Folks at Home," you'd
thought there was a church organ and a full orchestra out there! Maybe
comin' across the water had something to do with it; but hanged if it
wa'n't great! And of all the fine old tunes he gave us--"Nellie Gray,"
"Comin' Through the Rye," "Annie Laurie," and half a dozen more.

"Chunk," says I, as the concert ends and the folks begin to applaud,
"there's only one thing to be done in a case like this. Lemme take that
lid of yours."

"Certainly," says he, and drops a fiver into it before he passes it over.
That wa'n't the only green money I collects, either, and by the time I've
made the entire round I must have gathered up more'n a quart of spendin'
currency.

"Hold on there, Shorty," says Chunk, as I starts out to deliver the
collection. "I'd like to go with you."

"Come along, then," says I. "I guess some of these sailormen will row us
out."

What we had framed up was one of these husky, rugged, old hearts of oak,
who would choke up some on receivin' the tribute and give us his blessin'
in a sort of "Shore Acres" curtain speech. Part of that description he
lives up to. He's some old, all right; but he ain't handsome or rugged.
He's a lean, dyspeptic lookin' old party, with a wrinkled face colored up
like a pair of yellow shoes at the end of a hard season. His hair is long
and matted, and he ain't overly clean in any detail. He don't receive us
real hearty, either.

"Hey, keep your hands off that rail!" he sings out, reachin' for a
boathook as we come alongside.

"It's all right, Cap," says I. "We're friends."

"Git out!" says he. "I ain't got any friends."

"Sure you have, old scout," says I. "Anyway, there's a lot of people
ashore that was mighty pleased with the way you tickled that accordion.
Here's proof of it too," and I holds up the hat.

"Huh!" say