t, some hard topers have been
indooced to take the pledge in consekince o' what they've heard an' seen
in this _Welcome_, though they came at first only for the readin'-room
an' beds. Here, let me look at you under this here lamp. Yes. You'll
do. You're something like a sea-dog already. You won't object to
change hats wi' me?"

"Why?" asked Miles, somewhat amused.

"Never you mind that, mate. You just putt yourself under my orders if
you'd sail comfortably before the wind. I'll arrange matters, an' you
can square up in the morning."

As Miles saw no particular reason for objecting to this fancy of his
eccentric friend, he exchanged his soft cap for the sailor's straw hat,
and they entered the _Welcome_ together.

CHAPTER THREE.

THE "SAILORS' WELCOME"--MILES HAS A NIGHT OF IT AND ENLISTS--HIS FRIEND
ARMSTRONG HAS AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE AT THE SOLDIERS' INSTITUTE.

It was not long before our hero discovered the reason of Jack Molloy's
solicitude about his appearance. It was that he, Miles, should pass for
a sailor, and thus be in a position to claim the hospitality of the
_Sailors' Welcome_,--to the inner life of which, civilians were not
admitted, though they were privileged, with the public in general, to
the use of the outer refreshment-room.

"Come here, Jack Molloy," he said, leading his friend aside, when he
made this discovery. "You pride yourself on being a true-blue British
tar, don't you?"

"I does," said Jack, with a profound solemnity of decision that
comported well with his character and condition.

"And you would scorn to serve under the French flag, or the Turkish
flag, or the Black flag, or any flag but the Union Jack, wouldn't you?"

"Right you are, mate; them's my sentiments to a tee!"

"Well, then, you can't expect _me_ to sail under false colours any more
than yourself," continued Miles. "I scorn to sail into this port under
your straw hat, so I'll strike these colours, bid you good-bye, and make
sail for another port where a civilian will be welcome."

Molloy frowned at the floor for some moments in stern perplexity.

"You've took the wind out o' my sails entirely, you have," he replied at
last; "an' you're right, young man, but I'm troubled about you. If you
don't run into this here port you'll have to beat about in the offing
all night, or cast anchor in the streets, for I don't know of another
lodgin' in Portsm'uth w'ere you could hang out except them disrepitible
gro