and consequently so full of liquor that he was unable to drink any more, or so poor that he couldn't afford to be thirsty.
So the last comer smoked in silence at a little table of his own, which he had drawn into a corner, and his predecessor drank at his table, looking wiser and wiser, while each glanced furtively at the other without opening his lips. Presently the eyes of the elder man twinkled: he had got an idea—nay, he actually launched it. Filling his glass, and politely handing it to the smoker, but reserving the jug to drink from himself, he proposed the following comprehensive toast—
"All ships at sea!"
They both drank it gravely and without farther comment.
It was a social challenge, and felt to be such; the smoker
pondered, put out the glass he had drained to be refilled,
and holding it on a level with his eyes, enunciated
solemnly—
"All ships in port!"
When equal justice had been done to this kindred sentiment,
and the navies of the world were thus exhausted,
they came to a dead-lock and relapsed into silence once more.
This calm might have remained unbroken for a considerable time but for the entrance of a third seaman, much younger than either of the former, whose appearance in the passage had been received by a round of applause from the children, a hearty greeting from the landlady—though that portly woman, with her handsome face, would not have left her arm-chair to welcome an admiral—and a "good-*morrow," louder, but not more sincere, from Bob himself. It appeared that this guest was well known and also trusted at the Fox and Fiddle, for, entering the public room with a sea-bow and a scrape of his foot on its sanded floor, he called lustily for a quart of strong ale and a pipe, while he produced an empty purse, and shook it in the landlord's face with a laugh of derision that would have become the wealthiest nobleman in Great Britain.
"Ay, lad," said Bob, shaking his head, but setting before
