"In the _Harpy_," replied Jack, "to be sure, I belong to her."

"You belong to her! in what capacity may I ask?" inquired Captain
Tartar, in a much less respectful and confidential tone.

"Midshipman," replied Jack; "so is Mr Gascoigne."

"Umph! you are on leave then."

"No, indeed," replied Jack; "I'll tell you how it is, my dear fellow."

"Excuse me for one moment," replied Captain Tartar, rising up; "I must
give some directions to my servant which I forgot."

Captain Tartar hailed his coxswain out of the window, gave orders just
outside of the door, and then returned to the table. In the meantime,
Gascoigne, who expected a breeze, had been cautioning Jack, in a low
tone, at intervals, when Captain Tartar's back was turned; but it was
useless, the extra quantity of wine had got into Jack's head, and he
cared nothing for Gascoigne's remonstrance. When the captain resumed
his seat at the table, Jack gave him the true narrative of all that had
passed, to which his guest paid the greatest attention. Jack wound up
his confidence by saying that in a week or so he should go back to Don
Rebiera and propose for Donna Agnes.

"Ah!" exclaimed Captain Tartar, drawing his breath with astonishment and
compressing his lips.

"Tartar, the wine stands with you," said Jack, "allow me to help you."

Captain Tartar threw himself back in his chair, and let all the air out
of his chest with a sort of whistle, as if he could hardly contain
himself.

"Have you had wine enough?" said Jack, very politely; "if so, we will go
to the Marquesa's."

The coxswain came to the door, touched his hat to the captain, and
looked significantly.

"And so, sir," cried Captain Tartar, in a voice of thunder, rising from
his chair, "you're a damned runaway midshipman, who, if you belonged to
my ship, instead of marrying Donna Agnes, I would marry you to the
gunner's daughter, by God! Two midshipmen sporting plain clothes in the
best society in Palermo, and having the impudence to ask a post-captain
to dine with them! To ask me, and address me as _Tartar_, and _my dear
fellow_! you infernal young scamps!" continued Captain Tartar, now
boiling with rage, and striking his fist on the table so as to set all
the glasses waltzing.

"Allow me to observe, sir," said Jack, who was completely sobered by the
address, "that we do not belong to your ship, and that we are in plain
clothes."

"In plain clothes--midshipmen in mufti--yes, you are so: a co