ltered through the wall, satisfied Mr. Vyner that his orders were
being obeyed.

Horrified at the grave charge of disobedience, Bassett distributed
his work and left with what the junior clerk--whom he had constituted
residuary legatee--considered unnecessary and indecent haste. The latter
gentleman, indeed, to the youth's discomfiture, accompanied him as
far as the entrance, and spoke eloquently upon the subject all the way
downstairs. His peroration consisted almost entirely of a repetition of
the words "lazy fat-head."

With this hostile voice still ringing in his ears Bas-sett strolled
aimlessly about the streets of his native town. He spent some time at
a stall in front of a second-hand bookshop, and was just deep in an
enthralling romance, entitled "Story of a Lump of Coal," when a huge
hand was laid upon his shoulder, and he turned to meet the admiring gaze
of Mr. Walters.

"More book-larning," said the boatswain, in tones of deep respect.
"It's a wonder to me that that head of yours don't bust."

"Heads don't burst," said Bassett. "The brain enlarges with use the same
as muscles with exercise. They can't burst."

"I only wish I had arf your laming," said Mr. Walters; "just arf, and I
should be a very different man to wot I am now. Well, so long."

"Where are you going?" inquired the youth, replacing the book.

"Seven Trees," replied the other, displaying a small parcel. "I've got
to take this over there for the skipper. How far do you make it?"

"Four miles," said Bassett. "I'll come with you, if you like."

"Wot about the office?" inquired the boatswain, in surprise.

Bassett, explained, and a troubled expression appeared on the seaman's
face as he listened. He was thinking of the last conversation he had had
with the youth, and the hearty way in which he had agreed with him as to
the pernicious action of malt and other agreeable liquors on the human
frame. He remembered that he had committed himself to the statement that
wild horses could not make him drink before six in the evening, and then
not more than one half-pint.

"It's a long walk for a 'ot day," he said, slowly. "It might be too much
for you."

"Oh, no; I'm a good walker," said Bassett.

"Might be too much for that head of yours," said Mr. Walters,
considerately.

"I often walk farther than that," was the reply.

Mr. Walters drew the back of his hand across a mouth which was already
dry, and resigned himself to his fate. He had lied