Still keeping his hands in his pockets and the free-and-easy expression on his countenance, the sailor swaggered through the streets of the town with Captain Dunning at his side, until he arrived at a very dirty little street, near the harbour, the chief characteristics of which were noise, compound smells, and little shops with sea-stores hung out in front. At the farther end of this street the sailor paused before a small public-house.

 

“Here we are,” said he; “this is the place w’ere I puts up w’en I’m ashore—w’ich ain’t often—that’s a fact. After you, sir.”

 

The captain hesitated.

 

“You ain’t afraid, air you?” asked the sailor, in an incredulous tone.

 

“No, I’m not, my man; but I have an objection to enter a public-house, unless I cannot help it. Have you had a glass this morning?”

 

The sailor looked puzzled, as if he did not see very clearly what the question had to do with the captain’s difficulty.

 

“Well, for the matter o’ that, I’ve had three glasses this mornin’.”

 

“Then I suppose you have no objection to try a glass of my favourite tipple, have you?”

 

The man smiled, and wiping his mouth with the cuff of his jacket, as if he expected the captain was, then and there, about to hand him a glass of the tipple referred to, said—

 

“No objection wotsomediver.”

 

“Then follow me; I’ll take you to the place where I put up sometimes when I’m ashore. It’s not far off.”

 

Five minutes sufficed to transport them from the dirty little street near the harbour to the back-parlour of the identical coffee-house in which the captain was first introduced to the reader. Here, having whispered something to the waiter, he proceeded to question his companion on the mysterious business for which he had brought him there.

 

“Couldn’t we have the tipple first?” suggested the sailor.

 

“It will be here directly. Have you breakfasted?”

 

“’Xceptin’ the three glasses I told ye of—no.”

 

Well, now, what have you to tell me about the Termagant? You have already said that you are one of her crew, and that you were in the boat that day when we had a row about the whale. What more can you tell me?

 

The sailor sat down on a chair, stretched out his legs quite straight, and very wide apart, and thrust his hands, if possible, deeper into his pockets than they even were thrust before—so deep, in fact, as to suggest the idea that there were no pockets there at all—merely holes. Then he looked at Captain Dunning with a peculiarly sly expression of countenance and winked.

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