he boys all scattered?"

"I know," said I; "jump in!" And then to the driver: "Do you know Black
Tom's?"

Thither then we rattled, passed through the bar, and found (as I had
hoped) Johnson in the enjoyment of club life. The table had been thrust
upon one side; a South Sea merchant was discoursing music from a
mouth-organ in one corner; and in the middle of the floor Johnson and a
fellow-seaman, their arms clasped about each other's bodies, somewhat
heavily danced. The room was both cold and close; a jet of gas, which
continually menaced the heads of the performers, shed a coarse
illumination; the mouth-organ sounded shrill and dismal; and the faces
of all concerned were church-like in their gravity. It were, of course,
indelicate to interrupt these solemn frolics; so we edged ourselves to
chairs, for all the world like belated comers in a concert-room, and
patiently waited for the end. At length the organist, having exhausted
his supply of breath, ceased abruptly in the middle of a bar. With the
cessation of the strain the dancers likewise came to a full stop, swayed
a moment, still embracing, and then separated, and looked about the
circle for applause.

"Very well danced!" said one; but it appears the compliment was not
strong enough for the performers, who (forgetful of the proverb) took up
the tale in person.

"Well," said Johnson, "I mayn't be no sailor, but I can dance!"

And his late partner, with an almost pathetic conviction, added, "My
foot is as light as a feather."

Seeing how the wind set, you may be sure I added a few words of praise
before I carried Johnson alone into the passage: to whom, thus
mollified, I told so much as I judged needful of our situation, and
begged him, if he would not take the job himself, to find me a smart
man.

"Me!" he cried; "I couldn't no more do it than I could try to go to
hell!"

"I thought you were a mate?" said I.

"So I am a mate," giggled Johnson, "and you don't catch me shipping
noways else. But I'll tell you what: I believe I can get you Arty Nares.
You seen Arty; first-rate navigator, and a son of a gun for style." And
he proceeded to explain to me that Mr. Nares, who had the promise of a
fine barque in six months, after things had quieted down, was in the
meantime living very private, and would be pleased to have a change of
air.

I called out Pinkerton and told him. "Nares!" he cried, as soon as I had
come to the name, "I would jump at the chance of a