was to be part of the show, an' everyone to
be taken 'ome like a lord. There was a man in the gallery, which is
otherwise back seats at threppence, got up an' said he'd a-come on that
contrack, an' no other. Mortimer made 'im a speech, and when that
wouldn' do I copped 'im on the back o' the neck."

"An' after that, I s'pose, there was a free fight?"

"No," said Sam; "you 'd be surprised how quiet 'e took it. 'E was
unconscious."

She eyed him thoughtfully.

"It don't seem like you, neither," she said, "to strike a man so 'ard,
first blow."

"You're right, there; it _ain't_ like me, an' I felt sorry for the
fella'. But I 'ad to relieve my feelin's."

"What was the matter with yer feelin's?"

"'Arrowed--fairly 'arrowed." Sam shot an uneasy glance aft towards the
cabin top where Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer sat amicably side by side, he
conning a part while she mended a broken string on her guitar. Beyond
them, stretched on the after deck with 'Dolph for company, Arthur Miles
leaned over the gunwale, apparently studying the boat's reflection in
the water. "Between you an' me," Sam confessed, "I can't get no grip on
play-actors; an' I'm sorry I ever took up with 'em." He consulted his
accounts. "He cleared three pound twelve an' nine las' night--but 'ow?
That Mortimer carried on something 'ateful. There was 'is wife--you
wouldn' think it in ordinary life, but, dressed up, she goes to your
'eart; an' she wore, first an' last, more dresses than you could count.
First of all she 'it a little tambourine, an' said she was a gipsy maid.
'I'm a narch little gipsy,' she said, 'an' I never gets tipsy'--"

"Why _should_ she?"

"'But I laugh an' play,' she said, 'the whole o' the day, such a
nartless life is mine, ha, ha!' which wasn' none of it true, except
about the drink, but you could see she only done it to make 'erself
pleasant. An' then she told us ow' when they rang a bell somebody was
goin' to put Mortimer to death, an' 'ow she stopped that by climbin' up
to the bell and 'angin' on to the clapper. Then in came Mortimer an'
sang a song with 'er--as well 'e might--about 'is true love 'avin' 'is
'eart an' 'is 'avin' 'ers, an' everyone clappin' an' stampin' an'
ancorein' in the best of tempers. Well, an' what does the man do after
an interval o' five minutes, but dress hisself up in black an' call 'er
names for 'avin' married his uncle? This was too much for the back
seats, an' some o' them told 'im to go 'ome