s point a young woman--and pretty, too, though daubed with
paint--thrust her hat and head out of a window, three carriages away,
and demanded to know what in the name of Moses we were waiting for.

"Signals, my dear. The flagship's forra'd; and keep your eye lifting
that way, _if_ you please. I'm main glad you fell in with us," he
went on affably, turning to me; "because you round it up nicely.
Barring the sharks in black weepers, you're the only mourning-card in
the bunch, and I'll see you get a good position at the grave."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it. We're doin' our best. When poor Bill dropped
down in Symonds's"--he jerked his thumb towards the boarding-house
door--"Symonds himself was for turning everyone out. Very nice
feeling he showed, I will say. 'Damn it, here's a go!' he says;
'and the man looked healthy enough for another ten year, with proper
care!'--and went off at once to stop the fiddlers and put up the
shutters. But, of course, it meant a loss to him, the place being
full at the time; and I felt a sort of responsibility for having
introduced Bill. So I went after him and says I, 'This is a most
unforeseen occurrence.' 'Not a bit,' says he; 'accidents will
happen.' I told him that the corpse had never been a wet blanket;
it wasn't his nature; and I felt sure he wouldn't like the thought.
'If that's the case, says Symonds, 'I've a little room at the back
where he'd go very comfortable--quite shut off, as you might say.
We must send for the doctor, of course, and the crowner can sit on
him to-morrow--that is, if you feel sure deceased wouldn' think it
any disrespect.' 'Disrespect?' says I. 'You don't know Bill.
Why, it's what he'd arsk for!' So there we carried him, and I sent
for the undertaker same time as the doctor, and ordered it of oak;
and next morning, down I tramped to Dock and chose out a grave,
brick-lined, having heard him say often, 'Plymouth folk for wasting,
but Dock folk for lasting.' I won't say but what, between whiles,
we've been pretty lively at Symonds's; and I won't say--Hallo!
Here's more luck! Your servant, sir!"

He stepped forward--leaving me shielded and half hidden by the coach
door--and accosted a stranger walking briskly up the pavement towards
us with a small valise in his hand; a gentlemanly person of about
thirty-five or forty, in clerical suit and bands.

"Eh? Good-morning!" nodded the clergyman affably.

"Might I arsk where you're bound?"