rge-builder, "that he can do a bit of cruising about the mouth of the
Thames in that. 'Bout all she wants now is to have a mast fitted, and
to keep the water out, and she'll do." He chuckled grimly. Her lines
were crude, and she had been built up, you could see, as Pascoe came
across timber that was anywhere near being possible. Her strakes were
a patchwork of various kinds of wood, though when she was tarred their
diversity would be hidden from all but the searching of the elements.
It was astonishing that Pascoe had done so well. It was still more
astonishing that he should think it would serve.

"I've given him a hand with it," remarked the barge-builder, "an' more
advice than the old 'un 'ud take. But I dessay 'e could potter about
with the dam' tub round about as far as Canvey, if 'e keeps it out of
the wash of the steamers. He's been at this job two years now, and I
shan't be sorry to see my yard shut of it. . . . Must humour the old
boy, though. . . . Nigglin' job, mending boots, I reckon. If I mended
boots, I'd 'ave to let orf steam summow. Or go on the booze."

I felt hurt that Pascoe had not taken me into his confidence, and that
his ship, so far as I was concerned, did not exist. One Saturday
evening, when I called, his room was in darkness. Striking a match,
there was his apron shrouding his hobbing foot. This had never
happened before, and I turned into the barge-builder's. The proprietor
there faced me silently for a moment, treasuring a jest he was going to
give me when I was sufficiently impatient for it. "Come to see whether
your boots are done? Well, they ain't. Pascoe's gone. Christened his
boat this morning, and pushed off. Gone for a trial trip. Gone down
river."

"Good Lord," I said, or something of the sort.

"Yes," continued the barge-builder, luxuriating in it, "and I've often
wondered what name he'd give her, and he done it this morning, in gold
leaf. D'yer remember what she looked like? All right. Well, 'er name
is the _Heart's Desire_, and her skipper will be back soon, if she
don't fall apart too far off."

Her skipper was not back soon, nor that day. We had no news of him the
next day. A few women were in his workshop, when I called, hunting
about for footwear that should have been repaired and returned, but was
not. "'Ere they are," cried one. "'Ere's young Bill's boots, and
nothing done to 'em. The silly old fool. Why didn't 'e tell me 'e was
going to sea