coating of lather covered his
shrewish underjaw.

The dress of this unlovely old gentleman well became his rank as
captain of his Majesty's frigate the _Wasp_, but went very ill with
his figure--being, indeed, a square-cut coat of scarlet, laced with
gold, a long-flapped blue waistcoat, black breeches and stockings.
Enormous buckles adorned the thick-soled shoes which he drummed
impatiently against the legs of his chair.

The barber--a round, bustling fellow--stropped his razor and prattled
gossip. On a settle to the right a couple of townsmen smoked,
listened, and waited their turn with an educated patience.

"Changes, indeed, since you left us, Captain John," the barber began,
his razor hovering for the first scrape.

"Wait a moment. You were about to take hold of me by the nose.
If you do it, I'll run you through. I thought you'd like to be
warned, that's all. Go on with your chatter."

"Certainly, Captain John--'tis merely a habit--"

"Break yourself of it."

"I will, sir. But, as I was saying, the changes will astonish you
that have been at sea so long. In the first place, a riding-post
started from hence to London and from London hither a-gallop with
brazen trumpet and loaded pistols, to keep his Majesty certified
every day of the Fleet's doings, and the Fleet of his Majesty's
wishes; and all Harwich a-tremble half the night under its
bedclothes, but consoled to find the King taking so much notice of
it. And the old jail moved from St. Austin's Gate, and a new one
building this side of Church Street, where Calamy's Store used to
stand--with a new town-hall, too--"

Here, as he paused to scrape the captain's cheek, one of the two
townsmen on the settle--a square man in grey, with a red waistcoat--
withdrew the long pipe from his mouth and groaned heavily.

"What's that?" asked the hunchback snappishly.

"That, sir, is Mr. Pomphlett," the barber explained. "He disapproves
of the amount spent in decorating the new hall with pillars, rails,
balusters, and what not; for the king's arms, to be carved over the
mayor's seat and richly gilt, are to be a private gift of Mr. Isaac
Betts, and the leathern fire-buckets to be hung round the wall--"

Mr. Pomphlett emitted another groan, which the barber good-naturedly
tried to drown in talk. Captain Barker heard it, however.

"There it is again!"

"Yes, sir. You see Mr. Pomphlett allows his public spirit to run
high. He says--"

The little captain j