was another side to the button. "There ain't," shouted the old man. "What do you know about an anker; you never see a real one on a ship in yer life!" There was an inaudible disparaging reference to "imperdent kerloneyals" which seemed to crush the dog. To mollify him the man got on his knees and, bending his neck, showed the dog a faded anchor on the top of the cabbage-tree hat on his head. A little resentment would have served the dog, but he was too eager for peace.
Noting this, the old man returned to the button for reminiscences. "An' yet you thort at fust a thing like thet would do." There was a sign of dissent from the dog. "Yer know yer did—Sir. An' wot's more yer don't bark at 'er like yer used ter!"
The dog was uneasy, and intimated that he would prefer to have that past buried.
"None er thet now; yer know yer don't." Bending the button he continued, "They can't never do anythin' right, an' orlways, continerally they gets a man inter trouble."
He had accidentally turned the button, he reversed it looking swiftly at the dog. "Carn't do nothin' with it. A thing like thet! Might
