Rosa clutched his arm. "Not now; not while you are with me," she said,
primly.

"Just one smack," urged the boatswain.

He looked round again and clenched his fists, as his friends, with their
arms fondly encircling each other's waists, walked mincingly across the
road. He shook off the girl's arm and stepped off the pavement as with
little squeals, fondly believed to be feminine, they sought sanctuary in
the Red Lion.

"They're not worth taking notice of," said Rosa.

She put a detaining hand through his arm again and gave it a little
gentle squeeze. A huge feather almost rested on his shoulder, and the
scent of eau-de-Cologne assailed his nostrils. He walked on in silent
amazement at finding himself in such a position.

"It's nice to be out," said Rosa, ignoring a feeble attempt on his
part to release his arm. "You've no idea how fresh the air smells after
you've been shut up all day."

"You've got a comfortable berth, though, haven't you?" said Mr. Walters.

"Fairish," said Rosa. "There's plenty of work; but I like
work--housework."

The boatswain said "Oh!"

"Some girls can't bear it," said Rosa, "but then, as I often say, what
are they going to do when they get married?"

"Ah!" said the boatswain, with an alarmed grunt, and made another
attempt to release his arm.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Rosa, making a pretence of freeing him.
"I'm afraid I'm leaning on you; but I sprained my ankle yesterday, and I
thought--"

"All right," said Mr. Walters, gruffly.

"Thank you," said Rosa, and leaned on him heavily. "Housework is the
proper thing for girls," she continued, with some severity. "Every girl
ought to know how to keep her husband's house clean and cook nicely for
him. But there--all they think about is love. What did you say?"

"Nothing," said Mr. Walters, hastily. "I didn't say a word."

"I don't understand it myself," said Rosa, takings an appraising glance
at him from under the brim of her hat; "I can't think why people want to
get married when they're comfortable."

"Me neither," said the boatswain.

"Being friends is all right," said Rosa, meditatively, "but falling in
love and getting married always seemed absurd to me."

"Me too," said Mr. Walters, heartily.

With a mind suddenly at ease he gave himself over to calm enjoyment of
the situation. He sniffed approvingly at the eau-de-Cologne, and leaned
heavily toward the feather. Apparently without either of them knowing
it, his a