Then, after a pause, "My name's
Jope, sir; Benjamin Jope, of the _Bedford_, seventy-four, bo'sun's
mate--now paid off."

The clergyman, at first taken aback by the sudden question, recovered
his smile. "And mine, sir, is Whitmore--the Reverend John Whitmore--
bound just now in the direction of Dock. Can I serve you
thereabouts?"

Mr. Jope waved his hand towards the coach door. "Jump inside! Oh,
you needn't be ashamed to ride behind Bill!"

"But who is Bill?" The Rev. Mr. Whitmore advanced to the coach door
like a man in two minds. "Ah, I see--a funeral!" he exclaimed as a
mute advanced--assailed from each coach window, as he passed, with
indecorous obloquy--to announce that the _cortege_ was ready to
start. For the last two minutes heads had been popping out at these
windows--heads with dyed ringlets and heads with artificially
coloured noses--and their owners demanding to know if Ben Jope meant
to keep them there all day, if the corpse was expected to lead off
the ball, and so on; and I, cowering by the coach step, had shrunk
from their gaze as I flinched now under Mr. Whitmore's.

"Hallo!" said he, and gave me (as I thought) a searching look.
"What's this? A chimney-sweep?"

"If your Reverence will not object?"

I turned my eyes away, but felt that this clergyman was studying me.
"Not at all," said he quietly after a moment's pause. "Is he bound
for Dock, too?"

"He said so."

"Eh? Then we'll see that he gets there. After you, youngster!"
To my terror the words seemed charged with meaning, but I dared not
look him in the face. I clambered in and dropped into a seat with my
back to the driver. He placed himself opposite, nursing the valise
on his knees. Ben Jope came last and slammed-to the door after him.

"Way-ho!" he shouted. "Easy canvas!" and with that plumped down
beside me, and took off his tarpaulin hat, extracted a handkerchief,
and carefully wiped his brow and the back of his neck.

"Well!" he sighed. "Bill's launched, anyhow."

"Shipmate?" asked the clergyman.

"Messmate," answered Mr. Jope; and, opening his mouth, pointed down
it with his forefinger. "Not that a better fellow ever lived."

"I can quite believe it," said Mr. Whitmore sympathetically. He had
a pleasant voice, but somehow I did not want to catch his eye.
Instead I kept my gaze fastened upon the knees of his well-fitting
pantaloons. No divine could have been more correctly attired, and
yet there was a laten