int the Major felt a hand clapped on his shoulder, and
turning, was aware of two sailors, belted and wearing cutlasses, who,
having lurched up the steps arm-in-arm, stood to gaze, surveying him
with a frank interest.

"What's wrong, eh?" demanded the one who had saluted him, and turned
to his comrade, a sallow-faced man with a Newgate fringe of a beard.
"Good Lord, Bill, what is it like?"

"It _looks_ like a wreck ashore," answered the sallow-faced sailor
after a slow inspection.

"Talk about bein' fond of the theayter! He must have _swum_ for it,"
said the other, and stared at the Major round-eyed. "You'll excuse
me; Ben Jope, my name is, bos'n of the _Vesuvius_ bomb; and this
here's my friend Bill Adams, bos'n's mate. _As_ I was sayin', you'll
excuse me, but you must be fond of it--a man of your age--by the
little you make of appearances."

"I was just explaining," stammered the Major, "that although, most
unfortunately, I have left my purse at home--"

But here he paused as Mr. Jope looked at Mr. Adams, and Mr. Adams
answered with a slow and thoughtful wink.

"Go where you will," said Mr. Jope cheerfully, stepping to the
ticket-office; "go where you will, and sail the high seas over, 'tis
wonderful how you run across that excuse. Three tickets for the
gallery, please; and you, Bill, fall alongside!" He linked an arm in
the Major's, who feebly resisted.

"Lord love ye!" said Mr. Jope, "the lie's an old one; but a man that
played up to it better in appearances I never see'd nor smelt!"

CHAPTER XIII.

A VERY HOT PRESS.

The performance of _Love Between Decks_ had reached its famous fourth
act, in which Tom Taffrail, to protect his sweetheart (who has
followed him to sea in man's attire), strikes the infamous First
Lieutenant and is marched off between two marines for punishment.
This scene, as everyone knows, is laid on the upper deck of his
Majesty's ship _Poseidon_ (of seventy-four guns), and the management,
as a condition of engaging Mr. Orlando B. Sturge (who was exacting in
details), had mounted it, at great expense, with a couple of lifelike
guns, R. and L., and for background the overhang of the quarter-deck,
with rails and a mizzen-mast of real timber against a painted cloth
representing the rise of the poop.

At the moment when our Major entered the gallery, the heated
atmosphere of which well nigh robbed him of breath, Tom Taffrail had
taken up his position on the prompt side, close