indispensable factor in the interest of the tale, and a
distinction he was proud of to a degree. I have said that
Ratcliffe Highway was the rendezvous of seafaring men. It
provided them with a wealth of facilities for the
expeditious disposal of money that had been earned at great
hazard, and not infrequently by the sweat of anguish. One
chilly November morning a sailor was walking down the
Highway. His step was jerky and uncertain, for his feet were
bare; his sole articles of dress consisted of a cotton shirt
and a pair of trousers that seemed large enough to take
another person inside of them. These were kept from dropping
off by what is known as a soul-and-body lashing--that is, a
piece of cord or rope-yarn tied round the waist. His manner
indicated that he felt satisfied with himself and at peace
with all creation, as he chanted with a husky voice the
following song:--

"Sing goodbye to Sally, and goodbye to Sue;
Away--Rio!
And you who are listening, goodbye to you,
For we're bound to Rio Grande!
And away--Rio, aye Rio!
Sing fare ye well, my bonny young girl,
We're bound for Rio Grande!"

He was met by a shipmate just then who had been searching
for him during several days. The song was cut short by the
mutual warmth of greeting.

"What ho, Jack!" interjected the faithful comrade, with a
gigantic laugh; "you are under very small canvas this
morning. Have you been in heavy weather?"

"Yes," said Jack, "I have; but there's a fellow coming up
astern must have had it worse than me. He _was_ under bare
poles, but I see he's got a suit of newspapers bent now, and
he's forging ahead very fast!"

There is a grim humour about this story which brings a
certain type of sailor vividly to mind.

CHAPTER XIII

THE MATTER-OF-FACT SAILOR

I always feel inclined to break the law when I see a West
End or any other dandy on a theatrical stage libelling the
sailor by his silly personification: hitching his breeches,
slapping his thigh, lurching his body, and stalking about in
a generally ludicrous fashion, at the same time using
phrases which the real sailor would disdain to use: such as
"my hearty," "shiver-my-timbers," and other stupid
expressions that Jack of to-day never thinks of giving
utterance to. If theatrical folk would only take the trouble
to acquaint themselves with the real characteristics of the
sailor, and caricature him accurately, they would find, eve