bunk
beside the others with composure.

Next day by afternoon, Lough Foyle being already far behind, and only
the rough north-western hills of Ireland within view, Alick appeared on
deck to court inquiry and decide his fate. As a matter of fact, he was
known to several on board, and even intimate with one of the engineers;
but it was plainly not the etiquette of such occasions for the
authorities to avow their information. Every one professed surprise and
anger on his appearance, and he was led prisoner before the captain.

"What have you got to say for yourself?" inquired the captain.

"Not much," said Alick; "but when a man has been a long time out of a
job, he will do things he would not under other circumstances."

"Are you willing to work?"

Alick swore he was burning to be useful.

"And what can you do?" asked the captain.

He replied composedly that he was a brass-fitter by trade.

"I think you will be better at engineering?" suggested the officer, with
a shrewd look.

"No, sir," says Alick simply.--"There's few can beat me at a lie," was
his engaging commentary to me as he recounted the affair.

"Have you been to sea?" again asked the captain.

"I've had a trip on a Clyde steamboat, sir, but no more," replied the
unabashed Alick.

"Well, we must try and find some work for you," concluded the officer.

And hence we behold Alick, clear of the hot engine-room, lazily scraping
paint and now and then taking a pull upon a sheet. "You leave me alone,"
was his deduction. "When I get talking to a man, I can get round him."

The other stowaway, whom I will call the Devonian--it was noticeable
that neither of them told his name--had both been brought up and seen
the world in a much smaller way. His father, a confectioner, died and
was closely followed by his mother. His sisters had taken, I think, to
dressmaking. He himself had returned from sea about a year ago and gone
to live with his brother, who kept the "George Hotel"--"it was not quite
a real hotel," added the candid fellow--"and had a hired man to mind the
horses." At first the Devonian was very welcome; but as time went on his
brother not unnaturally grew cool towards him, and he began to find
himself one too many at the "George Hotel." "I don't think brothers care
much for you," he said, as a general reflection upon life. Hurt at this
change, nearly penniless, and too proud to ask for more, he set off on
foot and walked eighty miles to Weymouth, l