p in distress? Out with our boat; blow
high or blow low, out with our boat. And saved the lives of the crew,
did you say? Well, yes; saving the crew was part of the day's work, to
be sure; the part we didn't get paid for. We saved _the cargo,_ Master!
and got salvage!! Hundreds of pounds, I tell you, divided amongst us by
law!!! Ah, those times are gone. A parcel of sneaks get together, and
subscribe to build a Steam-Tug. When a ship gets on the sands now, out
goes the Tug, night and day alike, and brings her safe into harbour,
and takes the bread out of our mouths. Shameful--that's what I call
it--shameful."

The last words of the boatman's lament fell lower, lower, lower on Mr.
Ronald's ears--he lost them altogether--he lost the view of the sea--he
lost the sense of the wind blowing over him. Suddenly, he was roused as
if from a deep sleep. On one side, the man from Broadstairs was shaking
him by the collar. "I say, Master, cheer up; what's come to you?" On the
other side, a compassionate lady was offering her smelling-bottle. "I am
afraid, sir, you have fainted." He struggled to his feet, and vacantly
thanked the lady. The man from Broadstairs--with an eye to salvage--took
charge of the human wreck, and towed him to the nearest public-house. "A
chop and a glass of brandy-and-water," said this good Samaritan of the
nineteenth century. "That's what you want. I'm peckish myself, and I'll
keep you company."

He was perfectly passive in the hands of any one who would take charge
of him; he submitted as if he had been the boatman's dog, and had heard
the whistle.

It could only be truly said that he had come to himself, when there had
been time enough for him to feel the reanimating influence of the food
and drink. Then he got to his feet, and looked with incredulous wonder
at the companion of his meal. The man from Broadstairs opened his greasy
lips, and was silenced by the sudden appearance of a gold coin between
Mr. Ronald's finger and thumb. "Don't speak to me; pay the bill, and
bring me the change outside." When the boatman joined him, he was
reading a letter; walking to and fro, and speaking at intervals to
himself. "God help me, have I lost my senses? I don't know what to do
next." He referred to the letter again: "if you don't believe me, ask
Mrs. Turner, Number 1, Slains Row, Ramsgate." He put the letter back in
his pocket, and rallied suddenly. "Slains Row," he said, turning to the
boatman. "Take me there dire