skipper cleared his throat.

"There have been one or two little things in my life which I'm not
exactly ashamed of," he said modestly.

"That ain't much to boast of," said the mate, wilfully misunderstanding
him.

"I mean," said the skipper sharply, "one or two things which some people
might have been proud of. But I'm proud to say that there isn't a living
soul knows of 'em."

"I can quite believe that," assented the mate, and walked off with an
irritating smile.

The skipper was about to follow him, to complain of the needless
ambiguity of his remarks, when he was arrested by a disturbance from the
foc'sle. In response to the cordial invitation of the cook, the mate and
one of the hands from the brig _Endeavour_, moored alongside, had come
aboard and gone below to look at George. The manner in which they were
received was a slur upon the hospitality of the _John Henry_; and they
came up hurriedly, declaring that they never wanted to see him again as
long as they lived, and shouting offensive remarks behind them as they
got over the side of their own vessel.

The skipper walked slowly to the focs'le and put his head down.

"George," he shouted.

"Sir," said the hero gruffly.

"Come down into the cabin," said the other, turning away. "I want to
have a little talk with you."

George rose, and, first uttering some terrible threats against the
cook, who bore them with noble fortitude, went on deck and followed the
skipper to the cabin.

At his superior's request he took a seat on the locker, awkwardly
enough, but smiled faintly as the skipper produced a bottle and a couple
of glasses.

"Your health, George," said the skipper, as he pushed a glass towards
him and raised his own.

"My bes' respec's, sir," said George, allowing the liquor to roll slowly
round his mouth before swallowing it. He sighed heavily, and, putting
his empty glass on the table, allowed his huge head to roll on his
chest.

"Saving life don't seem to agree with you, George," said the skipper. "I
like modesty, but you seem to me to carry it a trifle too far."

"It ain't modesty, sir," said George; "it's that fortygraph. When I
think o' that I go 'ot all over."

"I shouldn't let that worry me if I was you, George," said the other
kindly. "Looks ain't everything."

"I didn't mean it that way," said George very sourly. "My looks is good
enough for me. In fact, it is partly owing to my looks, so to speak,
that I'm in a mess."

"A lit