with you."

"Tuppens as you can't do it right, young gent," said a rough-looking
elderly sailor, who was coiling down the rope which had nearly overset
the sick passenger.

"You keep your place, sir, and speak when you're spoken to," said
Walters, sharply.

"Certeny, sir. Beg pardon, sir, of course. Here, you Neb Dumlow, and
you Barney Blane," cried the man to a couple of his fellows, who were
busy tightening the tarpaulin over a boat which swung from the davits.

The two men, whose lower jaws were working ox-fashion as they ruminated
over their tobacco, left off and faced round; the first addressed, a
big, ugly fellow, with a terrific squint which made his eyes look as if
they were trying to join each other under the Roman nose, held a tarry
hand up to his ear and growled--

"What say, mate?"

"These here's our two noo orficers, and you've got to be wery 'spectful
when you speaks."

"Look here, young man," said Walters, haughtily, "I've been to sea
before, and know a thing or two. If you give me any of your cheek I'll
report you to the first mate. Come on, Dale."

He turned away, and the bluff-looking sailor winked at me solemnly as I
followed, and muttered the words, "Oh my!"

"Nothing like keeping the sailors in their places," continued Walters,
"and--"

"Morning," said a handsome, keen-looking man of about thirty.

"Morning, sir."

"Our two new middies, eh? Well, shall you want me to-morrow?"

He looked at me as he spoke.

"Want you, sir!" I replied. "Are you one of the mates?"

"Every man's mate when he's on his back," was the laughing reply. "I'm
the doctor."

"Oh!" I cried, catching his meaning, "I hope not, sir, unless it's very
rough, but I think I can stand it."

"So do a good many folks," he continued. "Morning."

This was to a big, heavy-looking gentleman of about eight-and-twenty,
who came up just then and shook hands with the doctor, holding on to him
it seemed to me in a weak, helpless, amiable fashion, as if he was so
glad he had found a friend that he didn't like to let go.

"Good--good-morning, doctor," he said, and as he spoke, I felt as if I
must laugh, for his voice was a regular high-pitched squeak, and it
sounded so queer coming from a big, stoutish, smooth-faced man of six
feet high.

Walters looked at me with a grin.

"Oh, here's a Tommy soft," he whispered.

"Don't," I said with my eyes, as I screwed up my face quite firmly.

"I'm so glad I met you, as e