ith some hesitation in his tone, "but there
are circumstances--"

"There you go again with your `circumstances,'" exclaimed Welton senior
with some asperity; "why don't you heave circumstances overboard, rig
the pumps and make a clean breast of it? Surely it's better to do that
than let the ship go to the bottom!"

"Because, father, the circumstances don't all belong to myself. Other
people's affairs keep my tongue tied. I do assure you that if it
concerned only myself, I would tell you everything; and, indeed, when
the right time comes, I promise to tell you all--but in the meantime I--
I--"

"Jim," said Mr Welton, senior, stopping suddenly and confronting his
stalwart son, "tell me honestly, now, isn't there a pretty girl mixed up
in this business?"

Jim stood speechless, but a mantling flush, which the rays of the
revolving light deepened on his sunburnt countenance, rendered speech
unnecessary.

"I knew it," exclaimed the mate, resuming his walk and thrusting his
hands deeper into the pockets of his coat, "it never was otherwise since
Adam got married to Eve. Whatever mischief is going you're sure to find
a woman underneath the _very_ bottom of it, no matter how deep you go!
If it wasn't that the girls are at the bottom of everything good as well
as everything bad, I'd be glad to see the whole bilin of 'em made fast
to all the sinkers of all the buoys along the British coast and sent to
the bottom of the North Sea."

"I suspect that if that were done," said Jim, with a laugh, "you'd soon
have all the boys on the British coast making earnest inquiries after
their sinkers! But after all, father, although the girls are hard upon
us sometimes, you must admit that we couldn't get on without 'em."

"True for ye, boy," observed Jerry MacGowl, who, coming up at that
moment, overheard the conclusion of the sentence. "It's mesilf as
superscribes to that same. Haven't the swate creeturs led me the life
of a dog; turned me inside out like an owld stockin', trod me in the
dust as if I was benaith contimpt an' riven me heart to mortial tatters,
but I couldn't get on widout 'em nohow for all that. As the pote might
say, av he only knowd how to putt it in proper verse:--

"`Och, woman dear, ye darlin',
It's I would iver be
Yer praises caterwaulin'
In swaitest melodee!'"

"Mind your own business, Jerry," said the mate, interrupting the flow of
the poet's inspiration.

"Sure it's that same I'm doin', si