sojourning!"

"By Jove! he just did. Now, I recall our conversation, I remember him
telling me that he was staying at a sort of a boarding-house, or
restaurant, called the `Sailor's Home,' though he made no mention of the
street. But, if I mistake not, I know the place, and can steer pretty
straight for it."

"Straight or crooked, let's set head for it at once. We've plenty of
time, if that were all. I told the coxswain not to come for us till
well after eleven. I want to see something of this queer Californian
life, of which I haven't had much experience yet."

"The same with myself."

"Well, we may never again get such a chance. Indeed, it's not likely
we'll be allowed another night ashore, before the _Crusader_ sails.
Therefore, let us make hay while the sun shines, or, to speak less
figuratively, a little merriment by the light of the moon. We've been
either savage, or sentimental, all the day, and need changing our tune."

"You're right about that; but the music is not likely to be made by
moonlight--not much of it. See those great clouds rolling up yonder!
They'll be all over the sky in ten minutes' time, making it black as a
pot of pitch."

"No matter; for what we want, gas-light will serve as well; and there's
plenty of that in San Francisco. Now for Harry Blew. After him, whisky
punches at the _Parker_."

"And after that?"

"A _Hell_, if you feel that way inclined."

"Surely, Ned, you don't want to go gambling!"

"I want to see life in San Francisco, as I've said; and, as you know,
gambling's an important part of it. Yes; I wish to inspect the
elephant, and I don't mind making an attempt to draw the teeth of the
tiger. _Allons_! or, as I should say, in the softer language of
Andalusia, _Nos vamos_!"

Thus jocosely terminating the conversation, the young officers continue
on at increased speed, and are soon threading the streets of San
Francisco in search of the "Sailor's Home."

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

A TAR OF THE OLDEN TYPE.

Harry Blew is a tar of the true man-o'-war type; this of the time when
sailors were sailors, and ships were oak, not iron. Such ships are
scarce now; but scarcer still the skilled men who handled their ropes,
and kept everything taut and trim--in short, the true tars.

Than Harry, a finer specimen of the foremast-man never reefed topsail,
or took his glass of grog according to allowance. Of dark complexion
naturally, exposure to sun, sea, and storm has