I kicked against
it; and the _more_ a fellow kicks, the more they worry you."

These few friendly advances from a messmate who seemed to be one of the
most likely-looking for a companion, sent a feeling of warmth through
the new-comer's breast, and in spite of the coarseness of the
provisions, which were eked out with odds and ends brought by the
middies from the shore, Sydney made a fairly satisfactory meal, the
better that Terry was on duty.

"But I've got to meet him some time," thought Sydney; and he wondered
how he would feel when he received that blow which was sure to come, and
stamp him as one of the subordinates of the lad whom his new friend had
dubbed the cock of the walk.

In spite of the novelty of everything about him, Syd had plenty of time
to feel low-spirited, and to envy the light-heartedness of his new
friend, who in the course of the evening seemed to feel that further
apology was due for their first encounter that day.

"I say, Belton," he said, "I am sorry I played you those tricks and
sided with Terry as I did. It was all meant for a game. We have such a
rough, uncomfortable life here that one gets into the habit of making
fun of everything and everybody, from the captain downwards."

"Don't say any more about it," replied Sydney, holding out his hand.
"I'm not such a milksop that I mind it."

"That's right," cried Roylance, grasping the extended hand. "You'll
soon be all right with us."

"Hi! look there," cried a squeaky-voiced little fellow at the end of the
table; "there's old Roy making friends with the new fellow. I say,
Belt, don't you believe him. He'll want to borrow money to-morrow."

_Bang_!

"No, you didn't," cried the little middy, who had ducked cleverly and
avoided half a loaf which Roylance threw at his head and struck the
bulkhead instead.

"You'll have to be stopped, Jenkins," said Roylance. "You've got off so
far because you are such a miserable little beggar."

"Don't you believe him, Belt," cried the little fellow, who had a
withered, old-mannish look, and an exceedingly small nose, like a peg in
the middle of his face. "Roy's afraid of me. Look at that."

He slipped off his coat, drew up his sleeve, and exhibited his muscle in
a pugnacious fashion, which brought forth a roar of laughter.

"Baby Jenks fights best with his tongue," said Roylance, coolly. "We
shall have to cut it before he grows civil."

The rattle of the chattering tongues went on till