en I come aboard he
says to me, he says, 'All right, Captain, all right, all right.'" No
sooner did the music begin afresh than this enthusiast would rise up
relentlessly as though hypnotized (by the paean) and perhaps stamp out
a bar or two before being replaced by combined efforts. This kept on
happening.

None the less, the landlord, who had apparently spent the day in liquid
rejoicings, was swallowing grog and growing taleful. He claimed all
sorts of sea service and seemed to know what he was talking about,
posed even my expert friends with the sailing-ship question: What's
the difference in build between a Scotch ship, a Nova Scotian, and a
Yankee? Boxing too was in his line: "Scholar of John L. Sullivan," he
assured us, and directed admiration to his fist, which was normal. From
taleful he waxed tuneful. "I'm a chanty-man, y'know," and wiping back
his gingery-white whiskers he groaned out "Blow the man down," and "The
streams of our native Australia," in dreadful style. After these, finding
himself strangely appreciated, he offered and began "a real English song,
y'know--exchoose me, y'know, if I don't speak the plain English." It was
"The Maid of the Mill." His rendering was a strain on our tact, and too
much for one of the young ladies of the house, who was smitten with a fit
of giggling most right and justifiable. At that, the old villain flew
into a ridiculous passion, jumped up, and was for hitting this girl.
He was restrained.

After this unwanted diversion, he returned and (with starts of rage)
barked out the rest of his song. His wolfhound began, and we began, to
find the vocalist a nuisance; and as the evening wore on, I thought the
authentic musician, who played the violin, was beginning to resent our
presence and success. The daughter of the house foolishly sat at our
table. The musician, however, was soothed with an honorarium, and with
much "Auf wieder-sehen!" we went. Even now, however, it was thought
unseemly to reach the ship in one journey, so halts were called twice;
and once aboard, the usual arguments kept us out of our beds until four
or so in the morning.

The two grain-elevators in the port were still busy with a Greek steamer,
so that, apart from painting, the _Bonadventure_ was idle, and there was
little to do but row over to the canteens and return with undreamed-of
quantities of chocolate and cigarettes. Cigars were, to us, as lightly
bought as matches. As to the painting, it was agai