So gallant a toast could not but be graciously accepted. The second comer, however, shook his head while he did it justice, and drank, so to speak, under protest, thereby in no measure abating the narrator's enthusiasm.
"She's a trim-built craft is my Alice," continued the other reflectively. "On a wind or off a wind, going large or close hauled, moored in dock or standing out in blue water, there's not many of 'em can show alongside of she. And she's weatherly besides, uncommon weatherly she is. When I bids her good-bye at last, and gives her a bit of a squeeze, just for a reminder like, she wipes her eyes, and she smiles up in my face, and, 'God bless you, Jack!' says she; 'you won't forget me,' says she; 'an' you'll think of me sometimes, when it's your watch on deck; and as for me, Jack, I'll think of you every hour of the day and night till you comes back again; it won't be so very long first.' She's heart of oak, is that lass, mates, and I wouldn't be here now but that I'm about high and dry, and that made me feel a bit lubberly, d'ye see, till I got under weigh for the homeward trip; an' you'll never guess what it was as raised my spirits, beating to windward across them Downs, with a dry mouth and my heart shrunk up to the size of a pea."
"A stiff glass of grog nor'-nor'-west?" suggested the oldest sailor, with a grunt. "Another craft on the same lines, with new sails bent and a lick of fresh paint on," snarled the second, whose opinion of the fair sex, derived chiefly from seaport towns, was none of the highest.
"Neither one nor t'other," replied Slap-Jack, triumphantly. "Scalding punch wouldn't have warmed my heart up just then, and I wasn't a-goin' to clear out from Alice like that, and give chase to a fresh sail just because she cut a feather across my fore-foot. It was neither more nor less than a chap swinging in chains; a chap as had been swinging to all appearance so long he must have got used to it, though I doubt he was very wet up there in nothing but his bones. He might have been a good-looking blade enough when he began, but I can't say much for his figure-*head when I passed under it for luck. It wanted painting, mates, let alone varnish, and he grinned awful in the teeth of the wind. So I strikes my topmast as I forges ahead,
