and his eyes became humid.

"There's no old age for me," he said, sadly; "but you needn't tell them,"
and he jerked his thumb towards the forecastle.

"No, no," said the cook.

"I've never been one to talk over my affairs," said Mr. Lister, in a low
voice. "I've never yet took fancy enough to anybody so to do. No, my
lad, I'm saving up for somebody else."

"What are you going to live on when you're past work then?" demanded the
other.

Mr. Lister took him gently by the sleeve, and his voice sank with the
solemnity of his subject: "I'm not going to have no old age," he said,
resignedly.

"Not going to live!" repeated the cook, gazing uneasily at a knife by his
side. "How do you know?"

"I went to a orsepittle in London," said Mr. Lister. "I've been to two
or three altogether, while the money I've spent on doctors is more than I
like to think of, and they're all surprised to think that I've lived so
long. I'm so chock-full o' complaints, that they tell me I can't live
more than two years, and I might go off at any moment."

"Well, you've got money," said the cook, "why don't you knock off work
now and spend the evenin' of your life ashore? Why should you save up
for your relatives?"

"I've got no relatives," said Mr. Lister; "I'm all alone. I 'spose I
shall leave my money to some nice young feller, and I hope it'll do 'im
good."

With the dazzling thoughts which flashed through the cook's brain the
cabbage dropped violently into the saucepan, and a shower of cooling
drops fell on both men.

"I 'spose you take medicine?" he said, at length.

"A little rum," said Mr. Lister, faintly; "the doctors tell me that it is
the only thing that keeps me up--o' course, the chaps down there "--he
indicated the forecastle again with a jerk of his head--"accuse me o'
taking too much."

"What do ye take any notice of 'em for?" inquired the other, indignantly.

"I 'spose it is foolish," admitted Mr. Lister; "but I don't like being
misunderstood. I keep my troubles to myself as a rule, cook. I don't
know what's made me talk to you like this. I 'eard the other day you was
keeping company with a young woman."

"Well, I won't say as I ain't," replied the other, busying himself over
the fire.

"An' the best thing, too, my lad," said the old man, warmly. "It keeps
you stiddy, keeps you out of public-'ouses; not as they ain't good in
moderation--I 'ope you'll be 'appy."

A friendship sprang up between the two men