"Excuse me, sir," he said, hesitatingly, "may I ask what room I shall
occupy, if--if--I come to work here?"

Mr Moxton looked a little surprised at the question, but pointed to the
outer office where the dishevelled clerk sat, and said, "There." Ned
fell to twenty below the freezing-point.

"And pray, sir," he continued, "may I ask what are office-hours?"

"From nine a.m. till nine p.m., with an interval for meals," said Mr
Moxton, sharply; "but we usually continue at work till eleven at night,
sometimes later. Good-morning."

Ned fell to zero, and found himself in the street, with an indistinct
impression of having heard the dishevelled clerk chuckling vociferously
as he passed through the office.

It was a hard struggle, a very hard struggle, but he recalled to mind
all that his uncle had ever done for him, and the love he bore him, and
manfully resolved to cast California behind his back for ever, and
become a lawyer.

Meanwhile Mr Shirley received a visit from a very peculiar personage.
He was still seated in his arm-chair pondering his nephew's prospects
when this personage entered the room, hat in hand--the hat was a round
straw one--and cried heartily, "Good day, kinsman."

"Ha! Captain Bunting, how are ye? Glad to see you, old fellow,"
exclaimed Mr Shirley, rising and seizing the sailor by the hand. "Sit
down, sit down, and let's hear your news. Why, I believe it's six
months since I saw you."

"Longer, Shirley, longer than that," replied the captain, seating
himself in the chair which Ned Sinton had vacated a short time before.
"I hope your memory is not giving way. I have been half round the
world, and it's a year and six months to-day since I sat here last."

"Is it?" cried Mr Shirley, in surprise. "Now, that is very remarkable.
But do you know, captain, I have often thought upon that subject, and
wondered why it is that, as we get older, time seems to fly faster, and
events which happened a month ago seem as if they only occurred
yesterday. But let me hear all about it. Where have you been, and
where are you going next?"

"I've been," replied the captain, who was a big, broad man with a rough
over-all coat, rough pilot-cloth trousers, rough red whiskers, a shaggy
head of hair, and a rough-skinned face; the only part of him, in fact,
which wasn't rough was his heart; that was soft and warm--

"I've been, as I remarked before, half round the world, and I'm goin'
next to America. That'