my fellow-creatures, and, finally, I
was in the mood for a glass of something. Enters this trio, then, into
the "Three Tuns" presently, and sits to a table in comfortable chairs,
with the clatter of the street falling, like rain, on the senses, and
the bright flare of gas among the dark barrels. There was about the
place an odour of good-fellowship and of peace that pleased me who had
not visited these haunts for years.

Little Pye turned his pince-nez on me as the attendant advanced.

"What'll you have, doctor?" he asked.

I hesitated.

"I suppose it must be port," said I; "port is more palatable and no
more noxious in such places than any other wine."

"Any port in a storm, in fact," said the little man, looking at me
quizzically.

"For my part----" said Holgate, in his stuffy, fat voice.

"Port, you should say," interposed Pye with brisk wit. He smiled at his
smartness and his eyes seemed to challenge me to respond.

"There's nothing to beat spirits--and sound rum for choice, but as they
won't have it here, I'll take brandy," continued the third officer.

He lighted a cigar and began to smoke, examining everything within
eyeshot attentively but with indifference. I think, except for the
first glance he had bestowed upon me, that he had completely ignored my
presence.

Little Pye put up his glass. "I drink," said he, "to a prosperous
voyage, Mr. Holgate, and to pleasant companions."

"Prosperous voyage," said the third officer wheezily, and I murmured
something to the same effect.

"You say the old man's velvet," said Holgate, resuming his puffing.

"Well," said Pye, beaming through his glasses, "I wouldn't go so far as
to say it, but he looks it. He looks kid-glove."

"I hate 'em," growled Holgate. "I've seen that kind on the ferry--all
airs and aitches, and frosty as a berg."

"Well, of course, it would be much more satisfactory to be sailing
under a real Tartar," remarked the little man with mild pleasantry.

Holgate cast him a glance which inquired, but was indifferent. "What's
your idea, doctor?" he asked.

"I have none," said I, smiling. "I am much more interested in third
officers."

His masklike face relaxed, and he stroked his black moustaches, and
took a long pull of his cigar.

"That was very nice of you, doctor," he said, nodding with more
cordiality.

Pye drew an apple from his pocket, and carefully bit into it. I don't
know why, but it struck me as comical to see him at this sc