hour,
and we have just the breeze we want. What d'ye think, Morrison, shall we
have dirt?"

"I've been looking just now, and if it were any other month in the year
I should say, yes; but there's no trusting April, captain. Howsomever,
if it does blow off, I'll promise you a fog in three hours afterwards."

"That will do as well. Corbett, have you settled with Duval?"

"Yes, after more noise and _charivari_ than a panic in the Stock
Exchange would make in England. He fought and squabbled for an hour, and
I found that, without some abatement, I never should have settled the
affair."

"What did you let him off?"

"Seventeen sous," replied Corbett, laughing.

"And that satisfied him?" inquired Pickersgill.

"Yes--it was all he could prove to be a _surfaire_: two of the knives
were a little rusty. But he will always have something off; he could not
be happy without it. I really think he would commit suicide, if he had
to pay a bill without a deduction."

"Let him live," replied Pickersgill. "Jeannette, a bottle of Volnay, of
1811, and three glasses."

Jeannette, who was the _fille de cabaret_, soon appeared with a bottle
of wine, seldom called for, except by the captain of the
_Happy-go-lucky_.

"You sail to-night?" said she, as she placed the bottle before him.

Pickersgill nodded his head.

"I had a strange dream," said Jeannette; "I thought you were all taken
by a revenue cutter, and put in a _cachot_. I went to see you, and I did
not know one of you again--you were all changed."

"Very likely, Jeannette--you would not be the first who did not know
their friends again when in misfortune. There was nothing strange in
your dream."

"_Mais, mon Dieu! je ne suis pas comme ca moi_."

"No, that you are not, Jeannette; you are a good girl, and some of these
fine days I'll marry you," said Corbett.

"_Doit etre bien beau ce jour la, par exemple_," replied Jeannette,
laughing; "you have promised to marry me every time you have come in,
these last three years."

"Well, that proves I keep to my promise, any how."

"Yes; but you never go any further."

"I can't spare him, Jeannette, that is the real truth," said the
captain: "but wait a little--in the meantime, here is a five-franc piece
to add to your _petite fortune_."

"_Merci bien, monsieur le capitaine; bon voyage!_" Jeannette held her
finger up to Corbett, saying, with a smile, "_mechant!_" and then
quitted the room.

"Come, Morrison, help us to em