ured, as if it was a usual thing, a
few drops of cordial, a proceeding which always made the old man's eyes
twinkle cheerily. During the course of conversation, I found that Jerry
Vincent was not only peculiar in his appearance but in his habits also.
He never by any chance, from choice, slept in a bed. When at sea, a
caulk on a locker was the only rest he took, and most of his nights, in
summer, were passed under the thwarts of his boat. My uncle told a
story of him, to the effect that one cold winter's night he had gone to
sleep under his boat, which had been hauled up and turned over on the
beach, and that when he awoke in the morning his dog had been frozen to
death, while he was only a little stiff in the neck. At all events, it
was evident that he was a very hardy old man.

"There are many like to hear my yarns," he observed. "Now, for example,
there was a gentleman down here from Lunnon, and he used to go out in my
boat off to Spithead, and sometimes across to the Wight. One day I
thought I would try one of my yarns on him, so I spun it off the reel.
He said, when I had finished, that it was a very good one, though it was
very short, and when he stepped out of the boat he tipped me
half-a-crown. The next day I took him out again, and spun him another
yarn rather tougher than the first, and he gave me three shillings. Ho,
ho, thought I to myself. If you pay according to the toughness of a
yarn, I'll give you something worth your money. Well, the third day
down he came, and said he wanted to go across to Cowes, if the tide
would suit, and I told him it would; and now, I thought, here's a fine
time for spinning a long yarn. I'll give you a tough one, and no
mistake. Well, I spun away, and my eye if it didn't beat the two others
hollow! We had a pretty quick run to the Wight and back, and just
before I landed him, `I hope you liked the story, sir,' says I. `Very
much,' says he. `And by the by, I should pay you for it. Here's a
couple of shillings.' I looked at the coin with disdain. `Pardon,
sir,' says I; `that story's worth five shillings if it's worth a penny,
and I can take nothing less.'

"`Are you in earnest, my man?' says he. `Yes, sir,' says I; `the story,
if written down, would be worth ten times the money.'

"`Then you are an extortionate old scoundrel, without a scrap of a
conscience,' says he. `Hard words, sir,' says I; `but it can't be
helped. We poor fellows must submit to great pe