iend, who had been compelled to wait at the door
for the latchkey.

"Look here, major," the latter said, when they came into their room,
"is it well to tell a Brussian gentleman to go to the devil? You have
much offended me. Truly I was surprised that you should have so
spoken!"

"Me dear friend," the old soldier answered, shaking his hand, "I would
not hurt your feelings for the world. Bedad, if I come into the room
while you are proposing to a lady, you are welcome to use the strongest
German verb to me that you can lay your tongue to."

"You have probosed, then?" cried the good-natured German, forgetting all
about his grievance in an instant.

"Yes."

"And been took--received by her?"

"Yes."

"Dat Is gloriful!" Von Baumser cried, clapping his hands. "Three hochs
for Frau Scully, and another one for Frau Clutterbuck. We must drink a
drink on it; we truly must."

"So we shall, me boy, but it's time we turned in now. She's a good
woman, and she plays a good hand at whist. Ged! she cleared the trumps
and made her long suit to-night as well as ever I saw it done in me
life!" With which characteristic piece of eulogy the major bade his
comrade good night and retired to his room.

CHAPTER XXX.

AT THE "COCK AND COWSLIP."

Tom Dimsdale's duties were far from light. Not only was he expected to
supervise the clerks' accounts and to treat with the wholesale dealers,
but he was also supposed to spend a great part of his time in the docks,
overlooking the loading of the outgoing ships and checking the cargo of
the incoming ones. This latter portion of his work was welcome as
taking him some hours a day from the close counting-house, and allowing
him to get a sniff of the sea air--if, indeed, a sniff is to be had on
the inland side of Woolwich. There was a pleasing life and bustle, too,
in the broad, brown river, with its never-ending panorama of vessels of
every size and shape which ebb and flow in the great artery of national
life.

So interesting was this liquid highway to Tom's practical mind, that he
would often stand at the head of the wharf when his work was done and
smoke a meditative pipe. It was a quiet spot, which had once been busy
enough, but was now superseded by new quays and more convenient
landing-places. All over it were scattered great rusty anchors,
colossal iron chains, deserted melancholy boilers, and other debris
which are found in such places, and which might seem to the