dozen gunners of ripe age, although he had chosen them for no worse reason
than that they had served in his Majesty's Navy and were by consequence
the best marksmen in the two towns. Not even this excuse, however, could
be pleaded on behalf of Gunner Israel Spettigew (commonly known as Uncle
Issy), a septuagenarian who owed his inclusion entirely to the jokes he
cracked. They had been greatly relished on parade: as indeed they had
made him for forty years past the one indispensable man at
Mayor-choosings, Church-feasts, Carol-practices, Guise-dancings, and all
public occasions; and because they varied little with the years, no one
had taken the trouble to remark until now that Uncle Issy himself was
ageing. But now the poor old fellow found himself the object of a
solicitude which (as he grumbled) made the Town Quay as melancholy as a
house in a warren.

The change in the public attitude came on him with a sudden shock.
"Good-mornin', Uncle," said Sergeant Pengelly of the Sloop Inn, as the
veteran joined the usual group on the Quay for the usual 'crack' after
breakfast. "There was a touch o' frost in the air this mornin'. I hope
it didn't affect you."

"What?" said Uncle Issy.

"We're in for a hard winter this season," went on Sergeant Pengelly
lugubriously. "A touch o' frost so early in October you may take as one
o' Natur's warnings."

"Ay," chimed in Gunner Tripconey, shaking his head. "What is man, when
all's said an' done? One moment he's gallivantin' about in beauty and
majesty, an' the next--_phut!_ as you might say."

Uncle Issy stared at him with neighbourly interest. "Been eatin' anything
to disagree with you, Tripconey?" he asked.

"I have not," Mr. Tripconey answered; "and what's more, though born so
recent as the very year his Majesty came to the throne, I've ordained to
be extry careful over my diet this winter an' go slow over such delicacies
as fried 'taties for breakfast. If these things happen in the green tree,
Mr. Spettigew, what shall be done in the dry?"

Mr. Spettigew cheerfully ignored the hint. "Talkin' of frost and
'taties," he said, "have you ever tried storin' them in hard weather under
your bed-tie? 'Tis a bit nubbly till the sleeper gets used to it, but it
benefits the man if he's anyway given to lumbago, an' for the 'taties
themselves 'tis salvation. I tried it through the hard winter of the year
'five by the advice o' Parson Buller, and a better Christian never missed