lush," I says. "'Errick was right, and you know it. Give 'im a chanst,"

I says.--"Uish," sezee, "don't you gimme no more of your jaw, or I'll

knock your bloomin' eyes out." Well, wot can I do, 'Errick? But I tell

you, I don't 'arf like it. It looks to me like the Sea Rynger over

again.'

Still Herrick was silent.

'Do you hear me speak?' asked Huish sharply. 'You're pleasant, ain't

you?'

'Stand away from that binnacle,' said Herrick.

The clerk looked at him, long and straight and black; his figure seemed

to writhe like that of a snake about to strike; then he turned on his

heel, went back to the cabin and opened a bottle of champagne. When

eight bells were cried, he slept on the floor beside the captain on the

locker; and of the whole starboard watch, only Sally Day appeared upon

the summons. The mate proposed to stand the watch with him, and let

Uncle Ned lie down; it would make twelve hours on deck, and probably

sixteen, but in this fair-weather sailing, he might safely sleep between

his tricks of wheel, leaving orders to be called on any sign of squalls.

So far he could trust the men, between whom and himself a close relation

had sprung up. With Uncle Ned he held long nocturnal conversations, and

the old man told him his simple and hard story of exile, suffering, and

injustice among cruel whites. The cook, when he found Herrick messed

alone, produced for him unexpected and sometimes unpalatable dainties,

The Ebb-Tide