of the _Christian Herald_
type, Pears' Soap art, and "_Vessels entered inwards_." For the asking
I may have back numbers of the _Christian Herald_. Mrs. Henry Wood's
story-books are obtainable by the cubic foot. As the colourless man
opens his mouth to address me, I shudder and back out. Give me vice,
give me boredom, give me anything in the world but this "practical
religion" and smug futility of ignoble minds.

I fear my philosophy has broken away and I am misanthropic. Possibly
because I shall not see my friend this home-coming. Moreover, I am due
on the ship even now, for the others are going off to their triumphal
"finish" up town. Faring back, then, I come to the dock-head at
sunset, and it is my hour. Darkness is rushing down upon the shipping
as I watch. In the distance hill piled on hill, blue dome upon blue
dome, spangled with myriad firefly lights, backed by the smoky red of
winter sunset; and here the shipping, ghostly now in the darkness,
exquisitely beautiful in the silence. From out at sea comes a faint
"_ah-oo-oo-oo_"--one more toiler coming in to rest. And it is night.

XXVIII

My friend the Chief Officer is putting fresh clothes on his bed. Clean
sheets and blankets and a snowy counterpane ("All sorts o' people come
in to have a chat, Mr. McAlnwick") are arranged with due care. He is
brisk to-night, is my good friend, having no log to modify this time,
and nothing else on hand for a day or two. Photos dusted, ports
opened, tobacco and whiskey duly placed between us, he climbs into his
nest and proceeds to converse. A sort of "_Tabagie_" or tobacco
parliament, such as was once in force at Potsdam.

"Sure," he snorts, "'twas blackmail the baggage was after, ye can take
it from _me_, and--keep the door open when she's sorting the things."

Being a young man, I wait, seated sedately on the settee, to hear more
concerning "the baggage," who is, let me explain, an itinerant
_blanchisseuse des equipages_ of equivocal repute. The Mate reaches
for his pipe.

"Would ye believe it, Mr. McAlnwick? She comes in here, while I'm
lying in me bunk, closes the door, and comes up to me. Says she, 'Oh,
Mr. Mate, I'm very unhappy!' and puts her arms round me neck, in
spite--in spite of all I could do, and falls to screamin'!"

"'Slack back,' says I, 'or ye'll be the most unhappy woman in this
town.' An' then Nicholas he puts his head in."

"The Steward!" I ejaculate.

"The same. Ye see, mister, the bagga