which puzzled the remainder
of the crew not a little.

The cook thanked him, and noticed that Mr. Lister was fidgeting with a
piece of paper.

"A little something I wrote the other day," said the old man, catching
his eye. "If I let you see it, will you promise not to tell a soul about
it, and not to give me no thanks?"

The wondering cook promised, and, the old man being somewhat emphatic on
the subject, backed his promise with a home made affidavit of singular
power and profanity.

"Here it is, then," said Mr. Lister.

The cook took the paper, and as he read the letters danced before him.
He blinked his eyes and started again, slowly. In plain black and white
and nondescript-coloured finger-marks, Mr. Lister, after a general
statement as to his bodily and mental health, left the whole of his
estate to the cook. The will was properly dated and witnessed, and the
cook's voice shook with excitement and emotion as he offered to hand it
back.

"I don't know what I've done for you to do this," he said.

Mr. Lister waved it away again. "Keep it," he said, simply; "while
you've got it on you, you'll know it's safe."

From this moment a friendship sprang up between the two men which puzzled
the remainder of the crew not a little. The attitude of the cook was as
that of a son to a father: the benignancy of Mr. Lister beautiful to
behold. It was noticed, too, that he had abandoned the reprehensible
practice of hanging round tavern doors in favour of going inside and
drinking the cook's health.

[Illustration: "A friendship sprang up between the two men which puzzled
the remainder of the crew not a little."]

For about six months the cook, although always in somewhat straitened
circumstances, was well content with the tacit bargain, and then, bit by
bit, the character of Mr. Lister was revealed to him. It was not a nice
character, but subtle; and when he made the startling discovery that a
will could be rendered invalid by the simple process of making another
one the next day, he became as a man possessed. When he ascertained that
Mr. Lister when at home had free quarters at the house of a married
niece, he used to sit about alone, and try and think of ways and means of
securing capital sunk in a concern which seemed to show no signs of being
wound-up.

"I've got a touch of the 'art again, lad," said the elderly invalid, as
they sat alone in the forecastle one night at Seacole.

"You move about too much,"