rimps.' We had misgivings as to the staunchness
of our messenger, but we had no other, and it was with some slight
relief that we watched him pass the nearest saloon with only a wave of
his arm to the bar-keeper and tramp sturdily up the street towards the
City.

At dinner-time neither John nor Old Martin had rejoined the ship. We
thought, with misgiving, that a man with fifteen dollars in his becket
would be little likely to remember the miserly meal provided by the
ship, and even Browne (the Mark Tapley of our half-deck) said he
shouldn't be surprised if the 'crimps' had got both John and Old Martin
(to say nothing of our fifteen dollars). As the day wore on we grew
anxious, but at last we got news of the absentees when Peden passed, on
his way out to the Bay. The sentimental Scotsman of the morning had
thought a lot after his liberal response to Munro's appeal, and had
called round at the Police Court to see that the affair was genuine.
He was now in his right senses; a man of rock, not to be moved even by
a mention of Burns's 'Hielan' Mary,' his tartan tie had slipped nearly
out of sight beneath the collar of his coat, and the hard, metallic
twang of his voice would have exalted a right 'down-easter.'

"Yewr man was 'up' w'en Ah got raound," he said, "up before Kelly, 's
Ah reckoned. Ah didn't hear the chyarge, but thyar was th' Dutchman
with 's head awl bandaged up--faked up, Ah guess. Th' Jedge ses t' th'
prisoner, 'Did yew strike this man?' Yewr man answers, 'Inteed to
goodness, yer 'anner, he looks 's if somebody 'd struck 'm!' Wi' that
a laugh wint raound, an' yewr man tells 's story." (James's Doric was
returning to him, and the twang of his "u's" became less pronounced.)
"He had bin in hospital, he said, wasn't very strong--here th' Dutchman
looks up, wonderin' like--had ta'en a drap o' drink wi' a man he met in
'sailor-town.' There wis talk aboot a joab ashore, an' they were in
Mertin's tae see aboot it, an' yer man sees this Mertin pit somethin'
i' th' drink. He didna like the looks o't, he said, so he ups an' gies
Mertin yin on th' heid wi' a 'schooner' gless. That wis a' he kent
aboot it, an' th' Dutchman begood his yarn. Oot o' his
kind-hertedness, he'd gie'n th' pris'ner a gless or twa, fower at th'
maist, when th' thankless villain ups an' ca's 'm names an' belts 'm on
th' heid wi' a gless. 'Pit drugs i' th' drink?' Naethin' o' th' kind!
He wis jist takin' a fly oot o't wi' the haunle o'