"What is it?" he whispered; for the bo'sun had entirely disappeared.
"Here you are, sir," said the sailor, reappearing with a bottle in his hand. "There's a wine-cellar down there the size of an admiral's cabin."
"Oh!" replied the captain. "Well, like enough it's the regular cellar."
"Then why should they be at such pains to hide the entrance, sir?" returned the bo'sun.
"There's nothing in that," replied the captain. "It's natural that they don't want every Tom, Dick, and Harry going into the wine-cellar."
"I suppose it is, sir," agreed the bo'sun, "but it looks a costly bottle, though it could do with a bit of a shine," he added, spitting on it and giving it a vigorous rub with his sleeve.
"Let's look at the label," said the captain. "'Alsace Lorraine, White, Rare 500.' What on earth does '500' mean?"
"The date, sir," ejaculated the bo'sun; "it's the date. My eye! that's enough to give a man a bad head. It's over a thousand years old."
"Nonsense, my man," said the captain, laughing. "It means that this bottle is one of a cargo of five hundred."
"Of course," said the bo'sun, slapping his knee. "What a thundering old idiot I am, to be sure. You're right, sir, as you always are, for I see the other four
